
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 


.-r:-’::. (3opQri0l^i !f o- 




UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 




.4 




s, 


$ 



1 



♦ 



# ; 



' i' 

« » 

I 


/ I 


1 


'i. 

f 


« . 

I 

i 

» • * 






1 


. 



1 


I 



j 


. / 






V V 


» 




T 



I • 


1 
























No. 45. 


^}UBLl$HEflS 

Hew XohK 


WEAKER TMAN A WOMAN. 


BY 


CHARLOTTE M. BRAME, 


Author of “ Thorns and Orange Blossoms,’’ “ Sunshine and Roses,” 
“ Dora Thorne,” “ Wedded and Parted,” etc., etc. 




A. delicious substitute for, und avoiding tlie 
injurious effects of Tea and Coffee. 


VanHouten'sCocoa 

“BESTS GOES FARTHEST,” 

is THE ORIGINAL Pure Soluble Cocoa. 

Invented and patented in Holland 
and, ever since its. invention, has re- 
mained unequaled in solubility, agree- 
able taste and nutritive qualities. 

Easily Digested. Made Instantly. 

Invaluable in FAMILIES, SCHOOLS, HOSPITALS, and KAIL WAY 
STATIONS, in the CAMP, on SHIPS, for WORKMEN (at home 
and to take to their work), and lYl qH placeS where a Fefreshing 
and nourishing beverage is required at a moment's notice. 

The English high-class paper ‘^Health” says : 

“ Its purity is beyond question, 
ONCE TRIED, ALWAYS USED.” 

C. J. VAN HOUTEN & ZOON, Weesp- Holland. 

SOLD BY ALL GROCERS OF THE UNITED STATES. 


ASK FOR VAN HOUTEN’S, AND TAKE NO OTHER, 




“yes, I DO LOVE YOU, FELIX,” SHE SAID GENTLY, AS 

CLASPED HER HANDS AND COVERED THEM WITH KISSES. ’ 

(P. 17.) 



THE SELECT SERIES. 

A WEEKLY PUBLICATION, 

Devoted to Grood I?-eadiiio- in American H*iction* 

Subscription PiucE, $ 13.00 Per Year. No. 45.— JUNE 11, 1890. 

Copyrighted, 1890 , by Street <& Smith. 

Entered at the Post-OJJtice, New York, as Second-Class Matter, 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. 


BY 


CHARLOTTE M. BRAME. 

O 

Author of “Thorns and Orange Blossoms,” “Sunshine and Roses,” 
“Dora Thorne,” “Wedded and Parted,” etc., etc. 


NEW YORK: 

STREET & SMITH, Publishers 


31 Rose Street 




Painless. 


Act 

like 

Magic 

on 

the Vital 
Organs. 


, PATENT 

“ PILLS. 




Effectual. 

One 
Dose 
Relieves 
in 

Twenty 
Minutes. 


Worth a^Guinea a Box. 

FOB iiL BiLiODS mimons disobbebs, 

SUCH AS 

Sick Headache, 

Weak Stomach, 
Impaired Digestion, 

Constipation, 
Disordered Liver, &c.. 

Arousing with the Hosebud of Health the whole Physical 
Energy of the human frame. 

Beecliain’s Pills, taken as directed, will quickly RESTORE 
FEMALES to complete health. 

SOLD BY ALL DRUGGISTS. PRICE 25 CENTS PER BOX. 

Prepared only by THOS. BEECIIAM, St. Helens, 
Lancashire, England. 

B. F. ALLEN &; CO., Sole Agents for United States, 365 & 367 Canal 
Street, New York, 

who (if your drug-g^st does not keep them) will mail Beecham’s Pills on receipt 
rxdce— but. inquire first. Please mention this Publication. 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN, 


y 

CHAPTER I. 

THE LEGACY. 

“ It is true, Kate — every word of it. I was, like you, in- 
credulous at first ; but I heard the will read, and I assure 
you that^rs. Hardman has left me six thousand pounds.” 

“ I cannot believe it, Darcy. Seehow my hands tremble. 
I have hardly the strength to speak. It is impossible. 
Six thousand pounds ! Oh, Darcy, if there should be any 
mistake, let me know it at once, before I begin to found 
any hopes upon such good fortune — before I take it into 
my heart of hearts as a truth. ’ ’ 

“My dear Kate, there is no mistake — there can be no 
mistake. I should not have told you had there been the 
least probability of such a thing. The money is our own, 
and will be paid to us when the estate is settled.” 

“ Six thousand pounds ! Why, Darcy, that means three 
hundred a year, does it not?” 

“Certainly,” replied Darcy Lonsdale, “properly in- 
vested. ’ ’ 

“ And three hundred a year means freedom from anxiety, 
from the constant toil of trying to make both ends meet. It 
means a larger and better house, a governess for the chil- 
dren. Oh, Darcy, how can we be thankful enough ?” 

“My dear Kate,” said the lawyer, simply, “I assure you 
that for some time after I had heard it I did not know how 
I felt. The most pleasant part of it was coming home to 
tell you. I knew how delighted you would be. ” 

“ Have you told Felix ?” asked the anxious wife. 


6 


WEAKER THAN- A WOMAK. 


“ No ; I have not seen him yet. He is gone over to Nun- 
combe. He will be pleased. I can take him into partner- 
ship now, which is a thing that I have long wished to do. 
We have had a hard struggle together, Kate, but it is al- 
most over now. I should not have believed that money 
could make such a difference iii any one’s sensations. 
Yesterday I felt that the world was my master ; to-day I 
feel that I have mastered the world. ’ ’ 

‘‘We shall be able to go to the sea- side now, and you can 
take a rest occasionally ; and we can get some good port 
wine for little Nellie.” 

The lawyer smiled. 

“And my bonnie Kate shall have a superb dress, ” he 
said, “ one that shall make her look young and beautiful 
to others as she does to me. In truth, Kate, I see no end 
to the relief, the ease, the happiness, that this unlooked 
for legacy gives us.” 

“We must take Vale House; it is to be let,” remarked 
Mrs. Lonsdale. “ It is just such a house as I always longed 
for ; it is so large, so convenient, and has a much better 
drawing-room than that of the Mertons. What do you 
think, Darcy?” 

“ Yes ; I think we might take Vale House. I go out 
to-day, and inquire about the rent, rates, and taxes. ” 

“ What will Mrs. Merton say ?” mused Mrs. Lonsdale. 

“Never mind about that,” replied the lawyer. “All that 
we have to do is to enjoy our good fortune. I really do 
not know, but I think that such a sum of money never 
made people so happy before. Kiss me, Kate, and we will 
not forget to thank Heaven together. ’ ’ 

The speakers were Darcy Lonsdale and his wife. Darcy 
Lonsdale was the principal lawyer in the clean and well- 
built town of Lilford in Loomshire — a man who had had a 
hard hand-to-hand struggle with the world. He had been 
twice married. His first wife died in her twentieth year, 
leaving an only son, Felix ; and ten years afterward the 
lawyer married again. His second wife was a blithe, 
bonnie, rosy girl who loved him with all her heart, and 
thought no one in the wide world so clever, so great, or so 
good. For his sake she took little Felix to her heart, and 
loved the dark-haired, handsome boy as much as she did 
her own children. The lawyer’s one drawback was his 
large family ; nearly every year a pretty, rosy, smiling 
baby appeared, until, as he pleasantly declared, he had 
ceased to count them, for their number frightened him. 
The “ small army” he called them ; and, though he was 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


7 


proud of them and fond of them, though he would not have 
missed one fair head from the circle for the whole world, 
yet the number told upon him— he could not save money, 
he could not even buy a house, his ingenuity was taxed to 
make both ends meet. The bills were so numerous — little 
feet must be shod, little fair heads must be covered, little 
minds trained ; and nothing could be done without money. 
Still Darcy Lonsdale w^as a very happy man ; he had a 
charming wufe, beautiful children, a good practice, and he 
liked work. The one pride of his life was his tall, hand- 
some son, Felix, in whom the honest, simple-hearted lawyer 
had concentrated all his hopes and ambition. The “ small 
army” were all under twelve, so that he could not build 
any hopes on them at present. 

His life had on the whole been a pleasant one ; but he did 
wish at times that he had a little more money. His prac- 
tice was a good one ; still it could hardly be called lucra- 
tive in the small pleasant town of Lilford. There was not 
much to occupy a lawyer ; the setting forth and renewal of 
leases, the drawing up of title deeds, the making of wills, 
the framing of agreements, composed the whole of his busi- 
ness. 

Among his clients was an eccentric widow lady, named 
Martha Hardman, and Darcy Lonsdale had for twenty 
years been her faithful friend, adviser, and guide. She said 
to him, laughingly, one day : 

“You will have something to thank me for when I am 
dead.’^ 

How can I thank you when you are dead ?” he asked. 

She nodded her head gravely. 

“You will see,” she replied. “You have done everything 
for me since you began to practice ; but I shall not let you 
make my will. Tell me whom you would advise me to 
send for to do so. ’ ’ 

Thinking that she was in a capricious mood, he an- 
swered : 

“ Send for George Malcolm ; he is an honest lawyer and 
an honest man. But why not let me make your will, Mrs. 
Hardman ?” 

“ Because I am going to leave you something in it ; and I 
have not read of the glorious uncertainties of the English 
law for so many years without wishing to be on the safe 
side. I may fail, but I will take all reasonable precau- 
tions. ” 

He laughed at the time, giving little heed to what she 
said, and soon afterward he forgot all about the incident. 


8 


weakeh than a woman. 


Three years later Mrs. Hardman died, and her nephew, her 
heir-at-law, came upon the scene. Darcy Lonsdale had all 
her papers, an exact list of all her moneys, her deeds, 
leases, documents of various kinds — but he had no will. 

“ Did she make a will ?” asked the heir-at-law. 

“I cannot tell,” replied Darcy Lonsdale. “I have cer- 
tainly drawn up no will for her.” 

“ Has she ever mentioned a will ?” pursued J.ames Hard- 
man. 

Suddenly the lawyer remembered that she had men- 
tioned a will, and his face flushed as he thought of the 
conversation. James Hardman looked at him suspiciously. 

“ She did speak of her will to me once ; she told me that 
I should not draw it up for her, and asked me to name 
some lawyer. I told her that George Malcolm was an hon- 
est lawyer and an honest man ; but I never heard whether 
she sent for him or not. ’ ’ 

“You know, of course, of what her property consists, 
and that I am her heir-at-law. ’ ’ 

“Yes,” was the cheerful reply; “we have often talked 
about you. I can give you the particulars of the late Mrs. 
Hardman’s property. She owned the estate called Wood- 
burn, consisting of a large farm and a good substantial 
house ; and she had, besides this, twelve thousand pounds 
in the Funds. ’ ’ 

“ And that is, of course, mine ?” said James Hardman. 

“ I know nothing as to that,” replied Darcy Lonsdale. “ I 
did not make her will, nor did she ever ask my advice 
about it.” 

After the funeral George Malcolm came with the will and 
the instructions that he had received from Mrs. Hardman. 
It was read aloud ; and then it was discovered that the 
lady had left Woodburn and six thousand pounds to her 
nephew, James Hardman, while to her true friend and 
adviser, Darcy Lonsdale, in acknowledgment of his long 
friendship and faithful services, she had bequeathed the 
sum of six thousand pounds. 

On hearing that the lawyer hurried home, delighted 
with the intelligence, to his wife. What a vista of com- 
fort this legacy opened out to them ! For the first time in 
his long honorable career the lawyer felt some relief — he 
could meet his expenses now, and when he died there 
would be something for his wife and children. 

Nor was his wife less delighted. In her heart she had 
longed for the same luxuries that the wives of other pro- 
fessional men enjoyed — for a drawing-room like Mrs. Mer- 


weakeh than a woman. 


9 


ton’s, for a nursery governess such as the doctor’s wife, 
Mrs. Dalverley, had engaged, for a silk dress like the one 
that the rector’s wife wore. But of these desires she had 
never spoken. She knew that her husband did his best in 
every possible way, and gave her all the money that he 
could. But now she ventured for the first time to indulge 
in such blissful reveries. They were no longer idle dreams ; 
they would be realized. She would live in Yale House, 
that delightful residence — she would have a charming draw- 
ing-room, a nursery governess, and a costly silk dress. 

While she sat dreaming with a smile on her face her 
step-son, Felix, entered the room. There was the warmest 
attachment between these two — kindly liking and respect 
for his step-mother on his part, the highest admiration and 
the truest love for a step-son on hers. She was so young 
when Darcy Lonsdale brought her to the great white square 
house in Castle street, Lilford, that it seemed absurd for 
Felix to call her mother. As he grew older it appeared to 
him that, with her soft Italian beauty, the most suitable 
title for her was madre. He looked at her now. 

'' Madre,^'^ he said, “you are looking very pleased and 
bright ; what is the good news ?” 

Mrs. Lonsdale went up to him and clasped her arms 
round his neck. She drew the handsome face down to hers. 

“ Kiss me, Felix, ” she said ; “ I have news to tell you — 
the best you have ever heard. I know you will be pleased 
— indeed the very thought of the news makes me tremble 
with joy. You could never guess it, Felix.” 

“ I suppose I never could. Have any of the ‘ small fry’ 
distinguished themselves ?” 

“ No ; it is nothing of that kind. It is this. You re- 
member Mrs. Hardman, of Woodburn?” 

“ I should remember her, madre ; some of the dreariest 
hours of my life have been spent in copying deeds bearing 
her name. ’ ’ 

“ My dear Felix, her name must be held blessed among 
us for evermore. She has left your father a legacy of six 
thousand pounds — and to us, my dear, that means so much. 
It means Yale House to live in, a governess for the chil- 
dren, and a partnership for you.” 

His handsome face fiushed hotly. 

“And that, madre — that means for me Yiolet Haye.” 

A tender light came into Kate Lonsdale’s clear eyes. 

“ I hope so, ” she said, gently ; “ I shall be so pleaded if it 
is so. Now, Felix, people call money dross. Could you 


10 WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. 

or I estimate the amount of happiness that lies in six thou- 
sand pounds ?” 

“I value it because it will give me Violet,” declared the 
ardent young lover. 

“And I because it will give me every desire of my 
heart, ” said Mrs. Lonsdale. “ And, above all, it will give 
your dear father a little rest. ” 


CHAPTER II. 

WOOING VIOLET HAVE. 

Violet Haye ! There is something in a name. More than 
one man murmured this one over and over again, won- 
dering to himself what sweet magic, what wonderful sor- 
cery lay in it. Violet Haye — the very sound evoked a vis- 
ion so beautiful, so full of witching grace, so dainty, so 
delightful, that dwelling on it proved too much for minds 
and brains not overstrung. What had not Violet Haye to 
answer for ? How many prosperous young farmers had 
wasted the best hours of the summer days while the hay 
spoiled in the meadows and the corn grew over-ripe in the 
fields, watching in Castle street, or waiting in the green 
lanes, for one glance at the peerless face of Violet Haye ? 
The young doctor, who had bought the old physician’s 
practice had almost gone mad for love of her ; and when 
she told him, with a sweet, bright smile, that she disliked 
medicine and everything connected with it, in pique and 
despair he married a prim little old maid who had ceased for 
fifteen years to dream of a wedding-ring. Young curates 
came, saw, and were comquered ; but beautiful Violet res- 
olutely refused to help any parish work — she would have 
nothing to do with the schools. One after another the 
curates went away, with a bitter memory of one of the 
lovelist girls in Loomshire. The young tradesmen of the 
place had never dared to lift their eyes to her, for she be- 
longed to the class known in Lilford as the gentry ; but 
when by chance Violet Haye did enter a shop the mas- 
ter of it had need of patience during the next twenty-four 
hours, for Violet Haye was a most beautiful girl, and 
reigned queen of the country round Lilford. 

There was a wonderful charm about the girl. It was not 
simply for the sheen of her golden hair, for the wonderful 
light of her violet eye^, the exquisite tints of her face, the 
beauty of her rosebud mouth, that men loved her so ; it was 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


11 


not that she was tall and slender, with a perfect figure ; it 
was not that she had white hands that wove wondrous 
spells, that she moved with grace that was all harmony, that 
she spoke with a voice sweeter than sweet music ; that, 
when she laughed, the silvery chime stirred a man’s heart 
like the sound of silver bells ; it was not for this that men 
loved her. She was not a flirt, not a coquette — she never, 
by word or looks, made any man believe that she loved 
him ; but she could no more have helped the way she had 
of charming men than she could have helped living. She 
was the only child of Francis and Margaret Haye, who lived 
in a pretty villa called the Limes, on the outskirts of Lilford. 
By kind indulgence the Hayes were permitted to rank with 
the gentry. They were not poor, they were not professionals ; 
they were not in trade. Francis Haye had an income 
that kept his family in comfort, but it would cease at his 
death. He had insured his life for the benefit of his wife 
and child, and the money that would come to them from 
that insurance was all that he had to leave them ; still they 
belonged to the gentry. It was not a numerous class in 
Lilford, and was by no means to be identified with county 
society ; that was a far-off and greater glory — a world that 
even beautiful Violet with her Greuze-like face had never 
hoped to enter. The gentry comprised old Colonel Maddox 
and his lady ; Mrs. Brownson, a widow lady with a daughter 
of uncertain age ; the late rector’s widow, Mrs. Boulders ; 
a maiden lady, Miss Stanley, the pride of whose life was 
that her second cousin had married a baronet, and who, in 
consequence, piqued herself on her high connections, and 
talked in a similar way of the aristocracy; and a few 
others of the same caliber. It was not a brilliant circle, 
but to Violet Haye it was a world. 

If, of her numerous lovers she preferred one, it was Felix 
Lonsdale. It was an old story. He had certainly been her 
lover from the early age of seven. He had never thought 
of any one else ; to him and for him the world was all 
Violet. In the sun’s rays shone Violet ; the birds sang 
“Violet;” no sweet flower bloomed that was as sweet as 
she. He had lived with this one thought ; he had studied, 
worked, toiled — all for Violet, hoping that the day would 
come wheii he would be able to marry her. He had de- 
voted his life to this one object. 

Darcy Lonsdale had contrived to send his son to Oxford, 
and at Oxford he had distinguished himself as a scholar 
of no mean abilities ; after that he had passed some time in 
London; and now he was with his father, sharing his 


12 


weakeh than a woman 


labors and toils, and working hard, hoping one day to 
secure a partnership, and then to marry Violet. He had 
once thought of leaving Lilford ; he felt that the place was 
but small, the circle of interests limited. Then he put 
aside the thought as a temptation ; he mustn’t desert his 
father or leave his business to the hands of strangers. 
There was something almost heroic in the way in which he 
looked round upon the great bright glittering world, with 
its magnificent battle-fields of skill and intellect, its great 
arenas where mind and brain fought mind and brain, and 
then said to himself, “ No, my duty lies at home, and I will 
work there.” 

He was singularly gifted, this young Englishman, who 
was brave enough to make duty his guide. People often 
looked at him in wonder, asking themselves whence had 
come his clear-cut face — a face of the purest type, with 
dark clustering hair that waved back from a low, broad 
brow — his beautiful mouth, that could be rigid and firm, 
yet often wore a smile as sweet as a woman’s, the dark 
eyes that were as true and eloquent as the soul they re- 
vealed. It was a poetical face, yet combining with the in- 
tellectual and the ideal something of the practical keenness 
of a clever man. 

Darcy Lonsdale formed great hopes for his son ; he had 
rightly estimated his abilities, and he had said to himself 
that in time the best business of the county would be 
brought to him. He himself was industrious, honest, and 
in some degree a good lawyer ; but his son was a genius, 
and the father told himself with a sigh that in these days a 
touch of genius was needed before one could make a mark 
in the world. 

As boy, youth, and man, Felix had loved Violet Haye 
— to win her, to make her his wife, had been the one dream 
of his life. He had had no other ; and it was equally cer- 
tain that up to the present time his love had brought him 
far more pain than pleasure, far more torment than rest, 
far more strife than peace. He could never tell whether 
beautiful Violet cared for him or not — all the country-side 
knew that he loved her. It seemed to him that the very 
birds in the trees and the fiowers in the hedges knew that. 
It had never been a secret ; but he could not guess whether 
she cared for him. If ever he felt hopeful and augured 
much from a kinder word or a sweeter smile than usual, 
the next time she saw him Violet would be cold. . She was 
so proud that he could hardly extort a word from her ; and 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. 


13 


yet he had a dim, a faint conviction, that she preferred hm 
to any other. 

Now was his opportunity. He was already making a 
fair income by writing reviews and essays. If his father 
took Iflm into partnership, his share, though perhaps small 
at first, would be certain, and would increase. Now was 
his opportunity ; he would delay no longer, but would at 
once ask Violet Haye to be his wife. 

“ It seems almost too good to be true,” he thought to 
himself, “ that I should succeed in my profession, that I 
should win the girl I love for my wife, that I should be 
happy and blessed. What have I done to deserve it?” He 
looked up to the sunlit skies. “Done,” he repeated — “I 
have done nothing. It is the goodness of Heaven that has 
given it to me. Heaven grants all to industry,” he 
thought, “ and while I work I need not fear. ” 

In that hour no thought came to him of the storm-clouds 
that darken men’s lives — of the terrible tempests that 
rend heart and brain — of the despair that looks for death as 
a relief. He saw only the blue sky and the golden sunshine. 

He saw nothing but the beauty of the fair earth and 
the laughing sky when he went to woo beautiful Violet 
Haye and ask her to be his wife. He had been waiting 
only until he saw a prospect clear and bright before him. 
Francis Haye might have objected to a man with an un- 
certain future ; Francis Haye would not object to the 
junior partner of the old-established house of Lonsdale. He 
was only twenty-four, and, after selecting a very choice 
fiower for his coat, was to be^forgiven, if he looked once at 
his clear-cut face and dark mustache. As he quitted his 
father’s house on that lovely summer afternoon there was 
perhaps not a handsomer, truer, more noble, or gallant 
young lover in all broad England than Felix Lonsdale. 

“Wish me good fortune, madre,” he said, bending to kiss 
Kate Lonsdale’s lovely face — “ I am going to the Limes.” 

Kate looked up with a smile. She made no answer. 
She kissed him as his own mother would have done, and 
watched him as he walked down the street. 

“ There is no need to wish him good fortune, ” she said to 
herself ; “ the girl does not live who would say ‘No’ to him. 

As she went through her round of duties, Mrs. Lonsdale 
thought often and anxiously that she* would like to know 
how Felix was speeding in his wooing. 


14 


WEAKm THAN A WOMAN, 


CHAPTER III. 

“l HAVE NOT QUITE PROMISED.” 

It was a glorious afternoon. The country about Lilford 
was beautiful in the extreme, with lovely undulating 
meadows, great chain'of green hills that stretched into the 
far distance, dark shady woods with some of the finest 
trees in England, lovely green lanes where wild flowers 
raised their bright heads. The town itself was quaint and 
picturesque ; the pretty old-fashioned houses were almost 
buried in foliage. The one long main street of the town — 
Castle street — might have been a Parisian boulevard, it 
was so regularly planted with trees. 

This afternoon seemed to Eelix Lonsdale one of the finest 
that he ever remembered. He walked through the clover 
meadows, his heart singing for joy, snatches of song rising 
to his lips. The hedges were all pink and white with haw- 
thorn, long sprays of woodbine twined round the rugged 
trunks of the tall trees, the clover was thick and odorous. 
He crossed the path at the end of Oakwoods, where he saw 
most glorious vistas of light and shade, entered a long green 
lane, and then he reached the fair green fields that led to 
the Limes, the home of his love. 

Presently he saw Violet Haye. He gazed at her in mute 
wonder that earth should hold anything so fair. She car- 
ried a little basket filled with flowers, and on her golden 
head she wore a simple garden hat. Her dress seemed to 
him a wonderful combination of white and blue. A feeling 
of humility came over him — who was he that he should 
hope to win this brilliant young beauty and make her his 
own ? Then his pride reasserted itself ; his love ennobled 
him ; he could hope to win her because he loved her so 
dearly. Violet did not see him. She was walking in the 
other direction, and he hastened after her. 

It was no wonder that he loved her ; the smiles with 
which she greeted him would have turned many a wiser 
brain than his. 

“Felix, ’’she cried, “I did not dream of seeing you.” 

“And seeing you, Violet, is like a dream,” he replied, 
“ and after I have left you I think of a hundred things that 
I wanted to say to you, and meant to say, and yet forgot. ’ ’ 
“That proves that you have a bad memory, Felix,” 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


15 


laughed Violet ; “but what has brought you to the Limes 
on this warm afternoon ?” 

“I have come to see you, Violet.” 

“I ought to be much obliged to you,” she replied ; “but 
the afternoon is a very busy time with me. I attend to all 
these flowers myself.” 

“ I will help you with the flowers, and I hope that I shall 
be no obstacle to your pleasant thoughts, Violet,” he said. 

They walked together until they reached an opening in 
the lawn ; there was a bank gay with wild flowers, a hedge 
full of wild roses, and hawthorns crowned it. Felix took 
the basket from her hand and placed her on the bank. 

“ I have come to talk to you, Violet,” he said. “You must 
forget your flowers for a few minutes and listen to me. 
Such a day as this, Violet, was made for a love-story. I 
have an idea that everything in nature is interested in 
mine. ” 

“Your ideas are not of the ordinary kind,” she remarked. 

“No, they are not, I own. Still they please me, Violet. 
I have a sweet fancy. Shakespeare says all sweet fancies 
come to lovers.” 

“But we are not lovers, Felix,” she said, gravely. 

“ Then I hope we soon shall be. I have a fancy, Violet, 
that every bird singing in the trees knows why I am here, 
that the flowers and the sunshine know it. ” 

“Then,” observed Violet, “they are wiser than I.” 

“ No, not wiser or sweeter or brighter than you ; but it 
was an idle, pretty fancy, Violet. As I walked under the 
great shady trees every leaf seemed to stir — as I passed, 
the roses in the hedges nodded ; they said, ‘ The sun shines 
and the earth is fair ; now is the time for youth and love. ’ ” 

Violet looked up at him with a resigned little sigh. 

“Not being either a bird or a flower, I am not in their 
confidence, Felix ; and perhaps when you have finished 
with them you will tell me what you have to say.” 

“ I will tell you now. I have such good news, Violet. 
Mrs. Hardman, one of my father’s clients, has left him six 
thousand pounds. ’ ’ 

Violet’s violet eyes opened wide in wonder. 

“ Six thousand pounds ! That is a great deal of money, is 
it not, Felix ?” 

“Yes, a very great deal. You know my father has an 
excellent business, but he did certainly want a little more 
money. This legacy has made him happier than I can tell 
you.” 


16 


weakeh than a woman. 


“ I should not think that money would make any one 
happy,” said Violet, thoughtfully. 

'‘No, it would not. Never hold with that idea, Violet. 
But this is the important thing— my father will now give 
me a partnership. My daiding, do you understand — a 
partnership ?” 

“Yes, Felix — what then?” 

“ I have one hundred a year that my dear mother left 
me ; I make quite another by reviews and articles for legal 
papers — that makes two hundred ; then from the business I 
am sure to obtain at least three hundred more — that will 
give me five hundred a year, Violet ; and, my darling, 
there is a beautiful little cottage orne near Oakwoods ; and, 
oh, Violet, Violet, will you be my wife? My darling, you 
know how long and how faithfully I have loved you. I 
have come to-day to ask you to be my wife. ” 

Her white hands dropped listlessly ; she turned her face 
to his ; no warm flush covered it, no love-light shone in the 
violet eyes. 

“How cruel of you,” she said, in soft, lingering tones — 
“ how very cruel on this sunny day to ask me such a ques- 
tion !” 

There was no anger in her face, no annoyance — nor was 
there pleasure or happiness ; she looked rather like a child 
who had been disturbed at play. He was neither anxious 
nor dismayed, for he understood the expression on her face 
well. 

“Why is it cruel, Violet?” he asked. 

“It is cruel. You know I do not want to be married, 
Felix. I do not like being teased about love. ” 

“ But, my darling, no one can look at you and not love 
you. ” 

“ That is not my fault. And, Felix, you should not call 
me ‘darling;’ do you not know that is hardly proper?” 

“ If I knew a word that conveyed more, and sounded 
more sweetly, I should use it,” he said, looking with pas- 
sionate admiration at the pure, perfect face. “Oh, Violet, 
do accept me. No one else in the wide world loves you half 
so much. I would make you so happy that you would never 
regret it.” 

‘‘ I am very happy now, ” she murmured, plaintively. 

“That little cottage. ome is so pretty, Violet. There is a 
charming drawing-room that opens on to a flower garden — 
imagine that all furnished in white and gold ; then there is 
a little room up stairs I should furnish as a boudoir for you 
— a room that would be a fitting shrine for my pearl of 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN, 


17 


pearls. My darling, you should have everything that your 
heart desires. ” 

She touched his face gently with her dainty hands. 

“ You would buy the moon for me if I wanted it, and you 
could obtain it,” she said, laughingly. “But, Felix, I do 
not want the moon, and I do not want to be married. Do 
talk of something more pleasant. ” 

“ Violet, my heart is so full of this ; it seemed to me as I 
came along that I walked on air. I have loved you so 
long ; I have no life apart from you ; and I have been wait- 
ing so impatiently until I could see a chance of making a 
beautiful home for you. Now, I see it — do not be cruel to 
me, Violet, I implore you.” 

“ It is you who are cruel to shadow this fair day by talk- 
ing of love and marriage, Felix. ” 

The words sounded hard and cold, but there was no cold- 
ness on her fair face. 

“You know that I have loved you, Violet, ever since we 
were children.” 

“ Yes, I know it. I should know it — you tell me so every 
day. ” 

“ And you — you have had admirers of every kind, I be- 
lieve, dark and fair, tall and short ; but, Violet, you love 
me best, do you not ?” 

The lovely face drooped over a bunch of wild thyme. She 
did not answer ; but he persisted in his questioning. 

“You love me best, do you not? Oh, my darling, be a 
little kind to me !” 

There was such passionate love in his handsome eyes, 
such passionate pain in his face, that she was touched. 

“Yes, I do love you, Felix,” she said, gently; and then 
she looked up in alarm. He had clasped her hands in his 
and covered them with kisses ; his dark eyes were dim 
with tears. 

“ Oh, my love, ” he cried, “ you hold my heart in the hol- 
low of your hand. If you had said you did not love me, the 
words would have killed me as surely as ever a man was 
slain. My darling, do you not see that if you love me you 
must of necessity be my wife ? You must of necessity be 
my wife,” repeated Felix, “or what is the use of love?” 

“It is pleasant,” she replied; “still, marriage — well, 
Felix, you will laugh if I tell you that it seems to me like 
calling a child into a gloomy house from the sunshine and 
from play. ” 

“That is not a pleasant comparison, Violet, my darling,” 
he reuaarked, smiling. “You will be very happy. Now 


18 


WEAKEB THAN A WOMAN. 


you spend your life among all kinds of bright pretty things. 
You shall do the same then. No shadow of care shall come 
near you. You shall know no trouble. You shall be one 
of the most worshiped as you will be one of the most beau- 
tiful of wives.” 

“ But, Felix, ” she said, slowly, with an air of perplexity 
on her beautiful face, “ it seems to me that marriage is the 
end of everything. Once married, there is nothing for one 
to look forward to, nothing, as it were, to hope for ; it is 
the beginning of a dull, gray, monotonous stretch of life. ” 

“You will not always say so, Violet,” Felix laughed. 
“ You must marry — you love me. Promise to marry me.” 

She was looking away beyond the green trees, as though 
she were trying to peer into some far-off future. 

“I do love you,” she returned, thoughtfully. “I am sure 
that I love you — but there seems to be something more 
wanting. I cannot think this is all that life holds for me ; 
yet I cannot tell what it is I want.” 

“You love me,” said Felix. “I am quite content. The 
rest is nothing but the natural fear that a young girl has 
of a new life. Tell me again — my heart hungers for the 
words — that you love me, Violet.” 

Slowly she turned her eyes from the distant hills ; slowly 
she raised them to her lover’s face. Love him? Certainly 
she did. His ardent young face had some of the proud 
stern beauty that immortalized the Greek heroes. There 
was none like him in Lilford. Certainly she loved him 
very much. Why hesitate to say so ? She spoke slowly, 
in a sweet, clear voice. 

“Most surely, Felix, I love you” — and the words seemed 
to fill him with delight. He took the soft white hands in 
his, and held them while he made her repeat again and 
again that she loved him. 

“You can never go back from your word, Violet. No 
human ear hears us ; but behold the great broad sky. 
Your vow is made to me, darling, before Heaven.” 

“ I have made no vow, Felix. ” 

“You have said that you love me. Violet, make me 
quite happy now. Already I am so happy that the air 
seems to intoxicate me. Say you will be my wife. ” 

She was thinking again, with the same far-off look in her 
eyes, and she said, suddenly : 

“ A cottage orne. Do you mean that pretty villa where 
the Hendersons staid ?” 

The question seemed to him almost decisive. She would 
not have asked it had she meant to refuse him. He could 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. 


19 


hardly answer her calmly, but he beat back his emotion. 
“ She is so easily startled, ” he said to himself — “I must be 
very cautious what I say to her.” He answered : 

“Yes, and many of the beautiful things that Captain 
Henderson bought are there now. To my mind it is the 
prettiest house in Lilford ; and, my darling, I have a vision 
of you standing in that pretty entrance-hall, waiting for 
me Avhen business hours are over. I can see the light 
from the stained-glass window falling on your golden 
hair. I can see the sunlight lying outside on the flowers. I 
can see my wife’s sweet face grow brighter for my coming. 
I can see your hands stretched out to welcome me. I can 
also see the years pass on, and life grow brighter and more 
beautiful. Do you like the picture, Violet? Will you make 
it real ?” 

His great passionate love, shining in his eyes, trembling 
on his lips, touched her. Her beautiful face grew pale. She 
was woman enough to feel the beauty of the future he had 
painted for her — woman enough to appreciate the deep, 
honest, true love offered to her. 

“ I would rather not promise,” she said ; “ but I will think 
of it, Felix.” 

“You do not refuse, Violet?” 

“No, I do not refuse,” she answered. 

“ Why, then, ” he cried, “the victory is won! You will 
be my wife. My darling, I love you all the better for your 
shy, sweet reserve. How could I be so foolish as to fear 
that I should not marry my sweet girl-love Violet? See, 
darling, I have been keeping this for you ever since I came 
home from London last year. ” He drew a little morocco 
case from his pocket, and, opening it, took out a pretty 
ring. It was of gold, set with pearls. “ You will let me 
put this on your Anger, Violet. This is your betrothal-ring. 
You will never part with it — promise me.” 

She looked at the pretty jewel shining on her Anger. 

“No, I will never part with it,” she said ; “but remem- 
ber, Felix, I have not quite promised.” 

“Not quite,” he returned, with a happy laugh. “You 
will let me go back to the Limes with you, Violet, and tell 
Mr. Haye what I have asked you ?” 

“ Must you tell them now so soon ?” she asked. “ It will 
be almost the same thing .as being married if you tell 
them. ” 

“ It will be only the foreshadowing of a happy future, my 

Violet, Yes, I must tell them to-night. It would not be 


20 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


honorable to keep silence ; besides, I am so proud of the 
treasure I have won that I could not be silent if I would. 

They went back to the Limes ; tea was ready in one of 
the sunny little rooms that looked into the garden, and 
Mrs. Haye sat waiting for her daughter. She smiled as 
the beautiful girl entered with her lover. 

“ I am not surprised, ” she said. “ I thought it was so. 
Violet is two hours later than she intended to be, and then 
does not return alone. That is like Violet.” 

Later on in the evening Felix told his love-story to Vio- 
let’s parents, who were pleased with it — pleased, but not 
elated. Violet was very lovely; she belonged to the 
gentry. Her beauty ought to have done much for her ; 
still Felix would certainly one day be the leading lawyer 
in Lilford, and the legacy had quite altered matters. But 
for that and the partnership, Mr. Haye would not have 
been willing for his daughter to engage herself to Felix 
Lonsdale ; however, in that country spot he was now a 
good match. They talked for some time about the pros- 
pects of business, about the cottage orne, about Lilford, 
and then Felix knew that it was time for him to go. 

Violet went with him to the garden gate. How many 
times he had blessed that garden gate ! A great lilac bush 
shaded it, and some of the happiest hours of his life had 
been spent there. The moon was shining and the flowers 
were steeped in glittering dew as the lovers walked 
through the garden. It was a long good-night. They stood 
under the sweet-smelling lilac, and the moonlight seemed 
to soften Violet’s heart just as it softened the beauty of 
her marvelous face. 

‘‘Violet,” said her lover, “will you give me one kiss? It 
is customary at all betrothals, and this has been our be- 
trothal day.” 

She raised her fair face to his in the moonlight, and he 
kissed the sweet lips. 

“Eemember,” she told him, “I have not quite promised.” 

“I have been thinking of your wedding-dress, Violet,” 
he said ; “ it shall be of white silk. My darling, you will 
be such a beautiful bride that every one who sees you will 
want to take you from me. ” 

The lilac leaves were wet with dew, and the lovers 
laughed as the dew-drops fell over them. They laughed as 
the night wind swept over the sleeping flowers — as the 
great boughs swayed and murmured. All the world 
seemed so fair. Then Felix found that it was growing 


21 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. 

late. It was hard to shorten this, the happiest hour of his 
life, but it must be done. 

Violet, I could stand here saying good-night until morn- 
ing dawned ; but that must not be. Good-night.” 

Once more he kissed the beautiful face, and whispered 
to her that she was dearest, sweetest, truest, that the world 
had no other newel so rare, that he loved her with his 
whole soul ; but she, when her fair face was resting on his 
breast and his strong loving arms infolded her, whispered : 

I have not quite promised. Felix, do not forget that. 

“ I shall remember it only to love you the more,” he 
answered, as he left her ; and he smiled to himself each 
time that he thought of the words. 

“You have brought good news home, Felix, said Mrs. 
Lonsdale, when she saw the happy light shining in his 

dark eyes. . ^ ^ 

“Yes, madre, good news,” he replied. I have seen Vio- 
let, and she was more beautiful and charming than I have 

ever seen her yet. ” . , t 

“And she promised,” began Mrs. Lonsdale — and then she 
stopped suddenly, thinking to herself that after all she 
had no right to put the interrogatory that was on her lips. 
Felix looked at her with a bright smile. 

“ She will be my wife, madre. Mr. and Mrs. Haye are 
both willing. She has not exactly promised, but she will 
marry me when I have a house ready for her.” 

Love and youth were strong within him ; the mighty 
passion stirred his heart ; he could not breathe within the 
narrow compass of four walls. He went out into the moon- 
light ; he could think of it all — realize it all — better there. 
He had won Violet. She was his own, the beautiful girl 
whom every one loved and admired — his own, to love him 
and bless him, to crown his life. 

The union was a settled thing. Both families met and 
talked it over. It was a certainty ; and a few days after 
Felix had placed the little pearl ring on Violet’s finger he 
went to make inquiries about the cottage ornc, while Mrs. 
Lonsdale said to' herself more than once, “I do not know 
how it is, but I wish that he had chosen Evelyn Lester.” 


CHAPTER IV. 

A STRONG-MINDED WOMAN. 

The news of an engagement was always well received 
in Lilford ; it was something to discuss, to think of— some-’ 


‘22 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


thing in which both maids and matrons took a lively in- 
terest ; and it was certain that no engagement ever courted 
so much discussion as this. How intensely the young farm- 
ers in the neighborhood detested Felix Lonsdale for having 
won beautiful Violet ! Each one made up his mind that 
Felix Lonsdale should do no more business for him, and 
wondered why she preferred a lawyer to a farmer. All the 
old people thought it a most suitable alliance. Felix and 
Violet, they said, were equal in position, and marriages of 
that kind were the best. Mothers who had daughters of 
their own to marry were thankful that beautiful Violet 
would rival them no longer. The girls thought that Violet 
had won a prize, for there was certainly no one in all the 
country-side like Felix. 

There was one pure, gentle heart to whom the news of 
the engagement came like a terrible blow, although it had 
long been expected. Evelyn Lester had never even owned 
to herself that she loved Felix Lonsdale, yet, when she 
heard the news, it seemed to her that the bright face of 
heaven was hidden from her by a dark funereal pall. They 
had all been children together, and in their childish quar- 
rels it was always Evelyn who defended Felix. He could 
do no wrong in her eyes ; in her opinion the wide world 
held no other so brave, so handsome, or so noble ; and the 
childish love had unconsciously grown with her — she called 
it friendship, and believed it to be nothing else. Felix had 
a real friendship for her, a real admiration, a great esteem, 
but nothing like love. He lent her books, he frequently 
asked Mrs. Lonsdale to invite her to the house ; but it was 
all because he was sorry for her, and thought her life 
lonely and sad. Evelyn was an orphan, left to the tender 
mercies of a strong-minded aunt, Jane Lester, mistress of 
the pretty little farm known as the Outlands. Miss Lester 
would say of herself, “ I am nothing if I am not strong- 
minded, ” and therein she spoke the truth. 

She looked like a strong-minded woman. She was thin 
and angular ; she had what she called a useful complexion 
— the sun did not darken it, nor did the wind ever freshen 
it into deeper bloom ; her gray hair was braided in most 
severely uncompromising style ; her dress was of plain, 
rich material. In writing the word “ woman” she always 
used a capital “ W,” and a capital “H” in “Humanity.” Of 
men as a whole she had the poorest possible opinion ; she 
had the profoundest contempt for all their sentiments, 
principles, and inventions. She went to extreme lengths 
in her views about the rights of women. Where there was 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAK 


23 


a man she was accustomed to say there was mischief. “ If 
you want anything done well, do it yourself,” she coun- 
seled ; do not leave it to men.” She had a certain convic- 
tion that if the world were governed by women it would be 
quite another place. She did not dislike men, she had 
simply a superb contempt for them— a lofty pity and com- 
passion that were infinitely amusing even to the objects of 

them. , , I 

It was the puzzle of the whole neighborhood how so 
sweet a girl as Eve Lester could have grown up under the 
charge of one like her Aunt Jane. Eve was not beautiful. 
She was the perfect type of an English girl— graceful, 
healthy, with a rounded figure, a clear complexion, fair 
brown hair, red, ripe lips, a face that one would call sweet 
rather than beautiful ; the dark gray eyes were clear and 
tender, long lashes shading them— a frank, noble soul 
spoke from her eyes ; her lips were firm and sensitive, 
with sweet and gracious curves about them. Of a hun- 
dred men perhaps ninety-nine would have passed Eve by 
and thought but little of her ; the hundredth would have 
considered her face one of the sweetest and dearest. There 
was a quiet dignity about her, a graceful ease and self-pos- 
session that delighted her aunt. Evelyn had a small for- 
tune entirely at her own command, but her aunt was al- 
ways at hand to see that there was no undue expense. 

The Outlands was a pretty farm not more than half a 
mile from Lilford, and Miss Lester was supposed to have 
made money. She, with her niece, belonged to the gentry, 
but, owing to the elder woman’s peculiarities, the two la- 
dies visited but seldom and seldom received any visitors. 

If there was one man in Jane Lester’s eyes less contempt- 
ible than another it was certainly Felix Lonsdale. “ The 
boy has a beautiful face,” she was accustomed to say of 
him, “and beauty is a woman’s gift.” So because he had a 
“woman's gift” Miss Lester looked more kindly on him. 
She lik,ed to see him at the Outlands. She gave him any 
amount of good advice ; she was pleased that he should be 
a friend of Evelyn’s. 

No one was more delighted than Jane Lester to hear oi 
the legacy, but the engagement did not please her so well. 
Love and marriage were folly in her eyes. 

“I am disappointed in you, Felix Lonsdale,” she said, 
sharply. “ I thought you had a little more sense than the 
generality of men. Pray expect no congratulations from 
me— I have none to give.” 

But Eve smiled at him with her clear, tender eyes. 


24 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN, 


“I am very pleased,” she said, “for I know that you 
love Violet dearly.” 

“We shall always be friends,” he told her. 

And she answered him with a happy smile on her sweet 
face : 

“ Always. ” 

They would always be friends ; for she desired nothing 
better in life than the friendship of Felix Lonsdale. 

Miss Lester was perhaps a trifle more disagreeable than 
usual for the next two or three days, and then, to all out- 
ward appearance, everything went on as usual at the Out- 
lands ; but to Eve Lester life was never quite the same 
again. She was innocently unconscious of her love. If 
any one had suddenly taxed her with it she would most in- 
dignantly have denied it. She hardly knew that the love 
of the woman differed from the love of the child. She did 
not know why the smiling earth and the fair heavens had 
so suddenly grown dark to her. She did not know why the 
spring of her life had left her. 

sic * * sic ^ * * 

Darcy Lonsdale had taken Vale House ; he had for once 
in his life-time the pleasure of ordering new carpets and 
pretty furniture. Mrs. Lonsdale was delighted. She had 
engaged a treasure of a nursery governess, and prepared 
herself to enjoy life in real earnest. The deed of partner- 
ship had been drawn up, and the firm was known as Lons- 
dale Sc Son. Every one agreed that Darcy had done a very 
wise thing in making his clever, bright, intellectual son a 
partner. Felix had taken the pretty cottage orne, and his 
spare time was devoted to preparing it for his beautiful 
bride. He had seen some fine photographs one day that 
he fancied would look well framed and hung upon the 
walls.. He asked Violet to look at them, but he could not 
get her to speak freely upon anything. The photographs 
were beautiful — with the most charming of smiles she con- 
descended to say so ; that was all. She was evidently in 
an amiable humor, and Felix resolved to make the most 
of it. 

“Violet, do come and see the house?” he begged. “You 
say that you never visited it while the Hendersons lived 
there. You canot tell how pretty the rooms are ; do come 
and see them.” 

It was a brilliantly beautiful day in J uly ; the sun shone 
on lilies and roses, on flowers of every hue ; the earth lay 
in the warm heat and brilliant haze — there was a hush and 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


25 


sweet brooding silence over all. Violet could not refuse ; 
putting aside all other thoughts, it would be pleasant to see 
the interior of a pretty house. Mrs. Lonsdale offered to go 
also, and the three started together. But Mrs. Lonsdale 
had been in love herself, and she had pity on her step-son. 
When they had admired the beautiful grounds and gardens 
she said, laughingly : 

“ The kitchen will not interest you ; it does me. I will go 
and inspect it. ” 

Then Felix showed Violet the pretty rooms he had 
planned for her. 

“The charm of them,” he said, “is that they are full of 
light and brightness ; from every window you see flowers 
and trees, through every door comes a breath of perfumed 
air. Oh, my Violet, we can be so happy here !” 

“ Is that jessamine growing yonder?” she asked. “Do 
gather a few sprays, Felix. I think I am fonder of jessa- 
mine than I am of any flower that blows. ” 

He went in compliance with her wish. What request of 
hers could he have refused ? And Violet Haye stood alone 
in the home that her lover sought to make hers. She stood 
there dainty and bewitching; she looked round. The 
rooms were very pretty ; she tried to imagine herself mis- 
tress there ; she tried to picture herself living there, going 
in and out, waiting for Felix, giving orders. She tried to 
realize what life would be like when she was married and 
lived there. There would be no future to look forward to, 
no sweet, bright possibilities. “ I should know all my life, 
then,” she thought, “it would hold nothing brighter than 
this, ” and the dainty little foot tapped the floor. “ Here it 
would all begin and end ; there would be no more dream- 
ing, ” and she had dreamed wildly of a different life from 
this. Still she loved Felix. 

“I wonder,” said the dainty young beauty to herself, “in 
what I differ from other girls. I know not one but many 
who would gladly change their fate for mine, who would 
marry Felix Lonsdale and be happy in his love, who would 
think this pretty house a palace, and would find the con- 
tentment and true happiness of a life-time within its walls ; 
why cannot I do the same ? What is it that I am always 
looking for, hoping for, expecting ? What more do I want ? 
I cannot understand myself — and I am sure no one else can 
understand me.” 

The violet eyes glanced wistfully round the pretty rooms ; 
y was she not content? 

‘I love Felix,” she told herself; “and it seems to me 


26 


weakeh than a woman. 


that if I made an effort I could be happy and contented 
here. What is the effort that I have to make ? I love 
Felix ; nothing on earth can make me alter that fact. ” 

Yet she did not feel quite at ease. There was a vague, 
shadowy feeling of something wanting that she had not yet 
found. 

Felix amused her with his raptures when he returned. 
It was so novel, so delightful to see her there ; and the day 
was never forgotten by him, because she had been gracious 
to him upon it. 


CHAPTER V. 

“you will need a friend.” 

The inhabitants of Lilford were pleased at Darcy Lons- 
dale’s good fortune. He deserved it, they said ; his honest, 
honorable, industrious life had been spent among them ; 
they had known him as boy and man ; they had been inter- 
ested in his marriages, in his children, in his business ; he 
was one of themselves ; they had been interested in his 
joys and sorrows and in his welfare, and now they were 
pleased at his good fortune. 

With this sudden and unexpected gleam of prosperity 
came other gleams ; his business increased ; and Darcy 
Lonsdale owned to himself that he was a most fortunate 
man. He removed with his household to Vale House ; and 
Felix began to think that he might induce Violet to marry 
him before the end of the year. He did not often speak to 
her of their marriage, for it was a difficult task ; she would 
evade the question in a hundred different ways ; she would 
laugh, yet look charming — do anything, in fact, but reply 
to his inquiry as to when they should be united. 

He went to the Limes one lovely summer evening, quite 
resolved upon not coming away without a definite answer. 
Violet was looking even more charming than usual ; she 
wore a white dress with blush roses, and her fair girlish 
face was like a sweet flower. He persuaded her to come 
out with him, beguiling her on to the lawn under the pre- 
text of showing her the gorgeous western sky. 

“I do not care for sunsets, Felix,” she said. “I cannot 
go into raptures over them. I see the sun set in some 
fashion or other every evening. ” 

But he was so determined that she thought it less trouble 
to accede to his wish. The sight of the glorious sky made 
her thoughtful ; then, when she was in a frame of mind 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


27 


proper for listening, he turned to her. How dazzlingly 
beautiful her face was in the sunlight. 

“ Violet,” he said, “ I want to quote a couple of lines from 
a familiar ballad to you. Can you guess what it is ?” 

“ No, I cannot ; Ido not care for familiar ballads,” she 
replied. “ What is it ?” 

“You know ‘My Pretty Jane,’ ” he said. “The lines I 
want to quote to you are these : 

‘ Name the da^, the wedding-day, 

And I will buy the ring.’ 

Now, sweet Violet, that is just what I want you to do — tell 
me when that happy day will dawn for me. Do not let 
the summer sunshine and the summer flowers all die be- 
fore you are my wife. ” 

She turned her startled face to his. 

“ You are cruel, Felix,” she said. “ You always spoil these 
lovely sunny days by talking about marriage.” 

“My heart is full of it,” he replied — “at least it is full of 
you. I do not wish to startle you, Violet, but give me one 
kind word to dream about now. I am always wondering, 
‘When will our marriage take place? When will my darl- 
ing consent ? When will the end come to all my uncertain- 
ties, doubts, and fears ? When shall I be able to say to my 
self, ‘ On such a day I shall bring home my wife V ” 

She answered, half impatiently. 

“You make so terribly sure of everything, Felix.” 

“ Have I not the rightt to do so in this case ?” he asked, 
laughing half sadly at her. 

“ I did not quite promise, you know, Felix. ” 

“Perhaps not in so many words, Violet, but in honor 
you are bound to be my wife. ” 

“ I am willing to be your wife, Felix, but let me enjoy 
my youth a little longer. I am only nineteen — there is no 
hurry. ” 

“You forget,” he interrupted, “how dearly I love you, 
Violet, and how I long for you to be with me. If I thought 
you did not love me, Violet, I would not urge my request 
— I would go far away, and occupy my life as well as I 
could — nay, I would rather die than make you unhappy. 
If you do not love me, I will not hold you pledged to me, 
Violet.” 

“But I do love you,” she said, looking up at him with 
sweet perplexed eyes ; “ still, Felix, it seems so sudden — ” 

“ Hardly sudden, darling, ” he interrupted, “ when I have 


28 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


loved you since you were seven years old. You will be 
just as happy when you are my wife as you are now — will 
you not?” 

“ I cannot tell, ” she replied. 

If she had spoken the real truth she would have told him 
that she was unwilling to lay down her sovereignty — that 
the homage and admiration she received were very precious 
to her — that she enjoyed them — that she liked to know she 
was the queen of the country-side. All that of course 
would end when she was married. The married ladies she 
knew led dull lives — or dull they seemed to her — spent in 
the routine of duty. They superintended their households, 
nursed their children, directed their servants. It seemed 
dreary work to her — a life that held little. She had hoped 
for more than this ; her brilliant beauty ought to bring her 
a brighter fate than that which these plain-faced matrons 
had met. 

While she sat musing with these thoughts plainly writ- 
ten on her fair face Felix was looking earnestly at her. 

“Let me say September, Violet,” he pleaded ; “that is a 
glorious month, and the house will be quite ready. My 
darling, gladden my heart with one word. ” 

But he was never quite sure whether she had spoken that 
word or not ; her eyes were dim with tears, and she mur- 
mured something to the effect that she loved him — had al- 
ways loved him ; while something of remorse seemed to 
tinge her manner. Her fingers thrilled him with their 
soft touch, her lovely lips quivered as she talked to him — 
but he could never tell whether she had whispered the 
word he wanted. 

That evening, when he reached home, Evelyn Lester 
was there, and a sense of rest came over him at the first 
glance at her sweet face. She went up to him with the 
gentle grace and dignity that characterized her. 

“ Felix, I have heard good news — you are favored in for- 
tune and in love. Is it all true ?” 

“Yes” — he told her it was all true ; he had been spend- 
ing the evening at the Limes — he had just left Violet. 

He walked home with Evelyn, and he was struck with 
the strange sense of rest that came over him. She was not 
beautiful, but the sweet face was very fair and very ten- 
der, her voice musical and full of sympathy ; she spoke so 
kindly of beautiful Violet, she praised her so generously 
and warmly, she spoke with such real enthusiasm of her 
loveliness, of the admiration she excited, of her brilliancy, 
that his heart warmed to her. She listened with such 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. 


29 


sweet sympathy to all that he had to say — to his history of 
the cottage, and of the pretty furniture and pictures he 
hoped to place therein ; she was interested in it all. He 
said to himself that it was strange what perfect rest he 
found with her, a something which he could not describe, a 
sense of deep tranquillity and repose. 

“ I think, Evelyn, ” he said, as he stood at the hall door 
of the Outlands, " ‘ that no man was ever so blessed. I have 
the truest and fairest of loves, and the truest and warmest 
of friends.” 

The moon was shining brightly, and Eve stood in silence 
for a few minutes, watching him. 

“You will need a friend,” she thought, “and, when you 
do, you shall not fail to find one. ’ ’ 


CHAPTEE VI. 

FOREBODINGS. 

“That young man ought to be satisfied with his lot in 
life,” said Jane Lester, as her niece told her of Felix Lons- 
dale’s successes. 

“He is quite satisfied, auntie,” Evelyn returned, gently. 

“ The worst thing that any man can do is to marry a girl 
with a pretty face, ” said the aunt. “Pretty girls are a 
mistake— they think themselves too good for anything. 
Felix Lonsdale has acted foolishly — Violet Haye will never 
make him a good wife. ” 

“She is young, and she loves him very dearly,” re- 
marked Evelyn. 

“Youth and love — would any wise man build his house 
on such foundations?” said her aunt. “I tell you, Evelyn, 
it is a mistake, and Lonsdale will find it so. I read a 
character quickly, and I have read Violet Haye’s.” 

“She loves him,” repeated Evelyn, who could imagine 
nothing more unanswerable. 

“Love — we know what a lasting sentiment that is,” 
sneered Miss Lester. “If he married a sensible woman 
with a nice little fortune, I should have some hope ; but 
the very curl of that girl’s hair shows what she is.” 

Evelyn laughed as she thought of the glorious golden 
hair that had always been Violet’s glory. 

“There is no other hair in Lilford like it, auntie,” she 
replied. 

“It is a very good thing,” was the retort. “I am no 
friend to nonsense.” 


30 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. 


No unfriendly criticisms reached Felix Lonsdale’s ears— 
none could have hurt him. He had now the one great 
prize of his life ; he was happy beyond all power of words 
to tell. It pleased him, too, that all his friends and neigh- 
bors took such kindly interest in him ; it was pleasant to 
meet with congratulations and good wishes — to see life 
lyiiig so fair and so clear before him — to feel his youth and 
his strength — to feel his happiness thrilling every vein. He 
felt that he had nothing left in life to wish for ; Heaven 
had been good to him, and had granted him his heart’s de- 
'sire. He would have felt a little happier perhaps had 
Violet been less coy. But that very coyness had a charm 
of its own ; it suited her ; he could not imagine her other 
than coy ; and, as for doubt or fear or mistrust, such 
shadows never darkened his mind. The heaven of his 
love was clear and cloudless. Violet would grow less coy 
in time ; it was better for her to be shy and reserved as she 
was than lay herself out for admiration as some did. 

He had settled in his own mind that he would persuade 
her to become his wife before chill October killed the 
flowers and stripped the trees. So he thought and hoped 
and dreamed, while a cloud was rising in the distance no 
larger than a man’s hand. 

One day Darcy Lonsdale returned with a perplexed look 
on his face to his new house. His wife, wondering at it. 
asked him : 

“ What is the matter, Darcy ?” 

After thinking for a few minutes he answered : 

“Nothing ; my brain seems to be full of foolish fancies.” 

The next time he returned home it was evening, and the 
pleasant tea-table, the happy circle of bright faces, might 
have gladdened any man’s heart; but Darcy Lonsdale 
looked dull. Again his wife asked what was wrong, and 
he laughed uneasily, she thought. 

“The very air seems thick with fancies,” he answered. 
“ I saw three of my best friends this morning standing in 
a group in Castle street, and when I joined them I knew 
by the startled, embarrassed expression on each man’s face 
that they had been talking about me. ” 

“ What could they have to say about you ?” asked Kate. 
“ It was all fancy, Darcy. ” 

“No; I am sure they were speaking of me. I went to 
the bank this morning, and as I was entering the door I dis- 
tinctly heard the manager say, ‘ Mistaken in Lonsdale. ’ I 
heard the words as plainly as you hear them now. He was 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. 


31 


talking to one of the partners, and they were both cool, I 
thought, in their manner.” 

Kate threw her arms around his neck and kissed his 
anxious face. 

Why should any one talk about you or be cool to you, 
dear? You have done no wrong.” 

No, but there is something — I am quite sure there is 
something, Kate — in the minds of people about me. I 
cannot imagine what it is. ” 

Kate tried to cheer him; she laughed at the notion. 
What could there be ? She knew that there was no one like 
him. No one could accuse him of a mean action ; his life 
had always been fair, open, loyal, and transparent. It 
was absurd. He must be out of health ; he should go away 
and rest himself for a time. People cool to him, indeed ! 
She would like to see any one treat him with less respect 
and honor than he deserved. The kind, tender face flushed, 
the soft eyes fllled with tears. She would have done bat- 
tle for him with the whole world. There was nothing in 
what he said, she felt quite sure, but failing health. 

Yet she waited anxiously for him the next day. She was 
somewhat surprised, for there had been a perfect deluge 
of tradesmen’s bills — an occurrence that had never hap- 
pened before. The baker had sent in his bill, and the 
butcher wanted ready money ; the upholsterers who had 
furnished Vale House pressed for a settlement in conse- 
quence of unlooked-for losses. Kate showed the bills to 
her husband. 

“ What does it mean ?” she asked, wonderingly. 

“ It means, my dear, that there is some subtle agency at 
work against us — I cannot tell what. It means also that 
the tradespeople must be paid at once. Indeed, Kate, we 
should have been wiser had we waited till the legacy had 
been paid to us before we came here. ” 

“But it is certain,” said Kate, a little anxiously. 

“ As certain as fate, ” he replied ; and then they talked a 
little more cheerfully about what they would do when the 
money was at command. 

That same evening Felix came home looking slightly 
preoccupied. He had seen one of their oldest clients go 
into George Malcolm’s office, and the vicar of the parish, 
the Reverend Daniel Hunter, had passed him with the 
coldest of bows. He also had an impression that there 
was something wrong. He could tell neither what it was 
nor why it was. 

Felix thought that there would be time to walk over to 


32 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


the Limes. He had a very beautiful book that he had 
bought for Violet, and he wanted to give it to her. 

It struck him, when he entered the drawing-room at the 
Limes, that the three assembled there had been speaking 
of him, their greeting was so awkward, so constrained, so 
unlike the genial, kindly reception that had always been 
given to him hitherto. Mrs. Haye held out her hand to 
him, but her eyes fell, and her husband’s half -murmured 
words were inaudible ; Violet looked embarrassed, and for 
the first time under that hospitable roof the young lover 
felt ill at ease. 

When he laid the volume on the table Mr. Haye took 
it up. 

“ This must have cost something, ” he said, “ for it is very 
handsome. It would be better to save money than to 
spend it — we none of us know when an evil day may 
come.” 

“I do not fear evil days,” remarked Felix, with all the 
sanguine hope of a young man. 

“The wisest among us may expect them,” said Mr. 
Haye, briefly. 

Then the conversation languished, and Felix grew so 
uncomfortable that he decided upon returning home. He 
had no misgiving — he thought he had called at an inauspi- 
cious moment — he had perhaps interrupted some domestic 
conference. He cared only to see Violet. If she would go to 
the gate with him, so that he would have time for a few 
words, all would be well. 

But when he had said good-night to the two seniors, and 
asked Violet if she would walk to the gate with him, Mrs. 
Haye interposed. 

“It is too cold,” she said. “Violet has been complaining 
of headache all day ; she must not go out. ” 

And the tone was so decided, so stern, that Felix could 
not oppose Mrs. Haye. He held Violet’s hand one minute in 
his ; he tried to look into the depths of her beautiful eyes, 
but they drooped from his, and he could not see them. He 
left her with a few whispered words, feeling more un- 
happy than he had ever felt before. 

The night was beautiful ; the wind was soft and fragrant, 
the sky calm and clear, the moon shining brightly. He 
smiled as he asked himself why he should be unhappy. 
What was there to make him so ? Why need he feel de- 
pressed? Yet the very air around him was filled with 
whisperings — the night-wind full of sighs. “ I am growing 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. ' 33 

fanciful,” he said to himself ; “and what tangible evil have 
I to grasp ?” 

There was nothing but a cloud of fancies ; his prospects 
were bright enough. He said to himself over and over 
again that no one was so fortunate. Had he not a partner- 
ship ? Had he not a certainty of calling the loveliest girl 
in the county his wife? What had he to fear? Yet what 
was the strange dull pain that made his brave young heart 
fail him ? What caused the strange shuddering that came 
over him ? Why had he a keen and penetrating, a vague 
indefinite feeling of an evil day to come ? He tried to re- 
press it ; he could understand women being nervous, but 
not men. 

For the first time he noticed that night a look of anxiety 
on his father’s face, and he asked what had brought it 
there. 

“ Shadows— nothing but shadows ; fancies— troublesome 
fancies,” was the reply ; yet it was strange the son turned 
away with a feeling almost of despair. 

Nor was the mystery lessened when on the day following, 
Mrs. Lonsdale, going on her daily round of shopping, met 
the vicar’s wife, Mrs. Hunter, who stopped to speak to her. 

“ This is a very sad affair, Mrs. Lonsdale, ” she said, and 
Kate, looking at her, asked quietly what affair she meant. 

She looked so entirely unconscious that the vicar’s wife 
was surprisedt 

“ Have you heard no bad news of — of — any one ?” she 
asked, and Kate answered, “No.” 

Then Mrs. Hunter related some trifling little story, and 
even as she related it Kate told herself that she was in- 
venting it. With her honest, straightforward eyes she 
looked at the vicar’s lady. 

“You are not telling me what was in your mind when 
you first spoke to me,” she said. “What were you think- 
ing of, Mrs. Hunter ?” 

But Mrs. Hunter, after laughingly parrying the remark, 
hastily said good-morning in a very embarrassed fashion, 
and walked away. 

Mrs. Hunter’s remark could mean nothing ; yet the heart 
of the loving, anxious wife grew heavy within her. Sad 
news ? What sad news could there be affecting her or hers ? 
And, if there was sad news about any one else, why could 
she not have said what it was ? 

She was the third who went home that day with a terri- 
ble sense of foreboding. Her pretty house seemed almost 
to oppress her. She wished that she had not burdened her^ 


34 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


self with a nursery governess ; as for the new silk dress, 
it no longer gave her the least pleasure. What was this 
cloud hanging over her husband and her children? Was 
it only nervous fancy, or was there evil looming in the 
distance ? 

She was soon to know, and when she did know it proved 
to be even greater than she feared. 


CHAPTER VII. 

“give the money back again.” 

“I am very sorry — I think it unjust ; but it is quite im- 
possible to say how it will end, ” said George Malcolm, the 
lawyer. 

For the secret was known now — the shadow had become 
a substance, the vague fancies had all assumed a form, the 
airy nothings had become realities so stern and so cruel 
that they had driven Darcy Lonsdale almost to despair. 
Mrs. Hardman’s heir-at-law, James Hardman, had given 
legal notice that he intended to contest his relative’s will 
on the ground of undue influence. He maintained — and 
nothing could shake his opinion — that Darcy Lonsdale had 
taken undue advantage of his position, that he had influ- 
enced a weak-minded woman, and had persuaded her to 
leave him the half of her money. It was a clever ruse, ad- 
vising her to send for another lawyer ; but it would not 
help him. 

Mr. Lonsdale found that the rumors about him had been 
growing daily, that his friends and neighbors were all 
talking of him, while he himself had not the faintest idea 
of the mischief that was abroad. James Hardman had been 
in Lilford — that he knew, and the fact had not interested 
him in any way ; but he did not know that James Hard- 
man had been silently destroying his reputation, had called 
upon his old friends, and had, in the most subtle fashion, 
insinuated that there had been a conspiracy against him, 
and that he intended to dispute the will. Every one in 
Lilford knew this before the least rumoy of it reached Darcy 
Lonsdale. He went at once to Mr. Malcolm, but the hon- 
est lawyer had no cheering news for him. 

“I am a lawyer myself,” he said, “but I can never tell 
how a lawsuit may end ; it may take the right turn, and 
again it may take a wrong one. ” 

“ But, ” returned Darcy Lonsdale, “ Mrs. Hardman meant 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 35 

me to have the money, did she not ? That one broad fact no 
one can dispute.” 

“ I believe honestly that she intended you to have it. I 
know she did. She talked to me for some time about the 
good it would do to you and your children. ” 

“ Then what can there be found to dispute ? She intended 
to give me the money, and she did give it — what is it to 
any one ?” cried Darcy Lonsdale. 

“The law deals heavily with cases like this. James 
Hardman will plead that he is heir-at-law, that he is the 
rightful heir of the late Elizabeth Hardman, that he had 
been brought up in expectation of receiving the money, 
and that you have taken an undue advantage of your posi- 
tion as her legal adviser and friend to induce her to leave 
it to you. ” 

“But,” declared Mr. Lonsdale, “I did no such thing. I 
swear to you I never asked, influenced, or said one word 
to her about it. How dare any man say such a thing of 
me ?” 

“ James Hardman has been brought up to believe that he 
would inherit twelve thousand pounds, and, flnding six of 
it given elsewhere, he is very angry about it, and says some 
bitter things. ’ ’ 

“ But how is it possible that any one who knows me could 
believe that I have acted unfairly? How can my old 
friends and neighbors believe it? I have lived among 
them all my life — they ought to know me better. I should 
not believe such a scandal of any one of them’ ’ — and tears 
of wounded pride and wounded affection stood in his eyes. 
“What are a man’s friends worth, Malcolm, if they be- 
lieve evil of him so easily ?” 

“ Perhaps they do not all believe it,” said George Mal- 
colm. 

“ Then why do they not say so ? Why not say, ‘We have 
known you for years, and we believe in you ?’ Why not 
say that instead of looking coldly on me. As I pass by 
they converse about me in whispers, and are startled when 
I meet them. ’ ’ 

• 

“James Hardman has talked a great deal among them,” 
said Mr. Malcolm, slowly. “ He has said some hard things 
of you.” 

“But my old friends,” rejoined Darcy Lonsdale, “the 
people I have lived among so long, how can they believe 
such slander ?” 

“ I am not much of a cynic, but this I must say, that I 


36 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


believe our misfortunes are not always displeasing even to 
those we call our friends. ” 

“ But these people have known me so long. ” 

Mr. Lonsdale could think of nothing so strange as that 
— no argument was so potent. He had lived among them 
all his life. Why did they not trust him as he trusted 
them? 

‘‘ If any one among them had come to me and had told 
me such a thing of another, I would not have credited it — 
and they are only too ready, it seems, to believe it of me. 
Malcolm, how in Heaven’s name am I to go home and tell 
this to my wife ? Am I to tell her that a blameless life 
spent in the midst of people who have known me since I 
was a child, is no shield against slander ?” 

I am very sorry for you,” said George Malcolm ; “ I can 
say no more. I do not believe it, and I shall stand by you 
through it all.” 

The two men shook hands, but Darcy Lonsdale’s face 
wore a puzzled, wondering look. 

“ Can it be a jest, do you think, Malcolm — a jest to try 
me ?” 

“ No, it is no jest. Hardman will get the money if he 
can. ” 

“ I would not take it unless I thought it were really mine 
— I would refuse to touch it ; but I cannot do that, for I 
am sure my old friend left it to me for the children. I 
must be just to them. Great Heaven, I have kept a blame- 
less name all my life only to meet with this fate — to see 
my old friends point at me as a man who would cheat his 
client. I wish I had been dead before I had known this. 
Tell me what Hardman is going to do. ” 

“ He has placed the whole matter in the hands of a Lon- 
don firm, and the trial will come on about the end of Sep- 
tember. You must prepare your defense and look up your 
witnesses. ” 

“If my whole life does not witness for me,” said Darcy 
Lonsdale, with quiet dignity, “ then the words of no man 
can benefit me. ” 

He dreaded going home — for the first time in his life he 
disliked passing through the streets of his native town, 
for the first time he shrank from the glances and words of 
his old comrades. 

“ Heaven help Kate !” he said to himself. “ How am I to 
tell her ?” 

But Kate knew already — such news travels fast. It was 
no weeping, hysterical wife who clung to him, half mad 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


37 


with womanish fear ; a bright, tender face looked into his, 
sweet, Avarm, white hands clasped his, loving lips kissed 
him, a brave, bright voice cheered him with the music of 
home words. 

“I have heard all about it, Darcy,” said his wife. “Never 
mind — no one can injure you. You are innocent, honest, 
and honorable. Never mind what any one says — Heaven 
knows the truth, and I love you all the more that you bear 
this blame so well. ’ ’ 

Darcy Lonsdale was relieved to find his wife so cheerful, 
and they sat down to discuss their difficulty. 

“Give the money back again, Darcy,” said his wife. “If 
I were in your place I would not touch one shilling of it. ” 

“ If I did that it would look as though I feared inquiry, 
as though I knew that I had gained it by wrong means, 
and remorse compelled me to return it. It seems to me noAv 
that I am compelled, in justification of my OAvn honor, to 
keep it — Mrs. Hardman certainly meant me to have it. 
Then there are the children — I cannot rob them ; I must 
not take from them what is really theirs. ” 

“ But, ” said his Avife, “ if there should be a trial, and it 
should go against you ?” 

“ Then I must bear it like a man, Kate. I have had many 
blessings — if it pleases Heaven to send me a reverse, I 
must not complain. ” 

But, for all that, she knew that his heart was sore and 
heavy, and that he was disturbed by a hundred doubts and 
fears. She soothed him, comforted him, and did her best 
to encourage him ; but she could not persuade him to forget 
his trouble for a moment — it was always in his thoughts. 

Presently Felix came in, and one glance at his son’s face 
told Darcy Lonsdale that he had heard the whole story. 
The handsome young face was full of emotion. He went 
straight up to his father, and laid his hand lovingly upon 
his shoulder. 

“Let me help you, father,” he said. “No man shall say 
one word against you while I live. ” 

And the two men — father and son — shook hands. There 
was more expressed in that silent grasp than there could 
have been in a volume of words. 

“You have heard the story, I suppose, Felix?” said Mrs. 
Lonsdale. 

“Yes, I have heard it, and a more cruelly unjust story 
never was told. Let me help to fight your battle, father. I 
should like to take every man who believes the story, or 
who affects to believe it, and thrash him,” 


38 


WEAKm THAN A WOMAN, 


“ My dear Felix !” exclaimed gentle Mrs. Lonsdale. 

“So I should, madre^"''^ and the young, handsome face 
deepened with angry scorn for every one who should har- 
bor an evil thought of one so beloved. The love between 
father and son was almost pathetic in its intensity. 

Presently Mrs. Lonsdale said, musingly : 

“What will Violet say when she hears it?” 

“ Say ?” cried Felix. “ She will be indignant. She will 
agree with me that any man who listens to it ought to be 
shot. Why do you look so strangely at me, madre 

“ I was wondering, ” she said, “ whether this would make 
any diiference to her or to her parents — I mean in respect 
to yourself. ” 

“Difference? No — yet I am wrong. Yes, it will make 
this one difference. She will love me the better, and cling 
to me the more. I have no doubt about Violet — my sweet 
Violet. It is the one thing needed to quicken her love for 
me with a new, strange life. ” 

He wondered why Mrs. Lonsdale sighed. Why need any 
one sigh? Violet’s love, Violet’s faith, was his rock of 
refuge. To doubt her would be death. 

“I have no fear,” he said, throwing back his head 
proudly. “Violet will love me now as she has never loved 
me before. My only trouble is about my dear father, and 
what I can do to help him. ” 

They talked until long after midnight ; they looked the 
evil in the face. If they went to law, and the law was 
against them, what then ? They would be dreadfully em- 
barrassed for ready money. The nursery governess must 
go, but they could remain at Vale House, and the partner- 
ship should not be dissolved. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

“you are an angel.” 

The autumn^was come ; the golden glory of summer had 
given way to it. The luxuriant trees made the woods a 
picture. The yellow leaves lay in dank heaps, the corn 
had all been cut and carried, the fruit gathered ; the gloam- 
ing was longer, the sunset had clouds of deeper crimson. 

The little town of Lilford had experienced a social earth- 
quake. The great trial of Lonsdale versus Hardman had 
been decided, and the verdict — no one but the twelve in- 
telligent jurymen who gave it knew why — was against 
Darcy Lonsdale ; the will was declared null and void, and 


WEAKER TEAK A W03fAK 39 

the whole of the property was to be given to James Hard- 
man. 

That was hard ; but hardest of all were the cruel things 
said by the plaintiff’s counsel. Darcy Lonsdale listened to 
them like one in a dream. He heard all kinds of under- 
hand motives attributed to him ; he heard himself described 
as a conspirator, as one who had taken advantage of his 
position to influence a weak-minded woman. He listened 
to words which burned him, branded him— which almost 
robbed him of his self-respect — which so completely bewil- 
dered him that, if he had been a weaker man, he would not 
have known whether he was guilty or not. The blameless 
life of which he was so proud, the blameless name which 
he valued above all other blessings* were bespattered. As 
he listened to the cruel words, which fell like molten lead 
on his heart and home, he could have cried aloud that it was 
all false — he had lived in Lilford both as boy and man, and 
all his old friends knew that he was incapable of doing any 
creature a wrong or an injury. 

He called few witnesses. He might have made a far bet- 
ter defense than he did but that he trusted so entirely to 
the notion that his own innocence must be patent to all men. 
The verdict was against him— unjustly so, some said, for 
the judge had summed up favorably for him — and Darcy 
Lonsdale went home crushed and heart-broken. 

Those were dreary days in Yale House. 

“I shall never hold up my head again,” said Darcy Lons- 
dale, with a deep sob. “ I shall never look my fellow-men 
in the face.” 

That his old friends should have believed this of him 
pained the brave, honest heart. He had a long illness, 
from which it was feared at first that he would never re- 
cover. 

It was a dreary time. The business fell away ; the towns- 
people said to each other, with a grave shake of the head, 
that they could not trust a man of whom such things had 
been said — they could not leave their interests, as before, in 
his hands. One after another the old names disappeared 
from his books. Men he had known all his simple life 
fought shy of him, avoided him, and the dreary time 
passed on. 

Felix worked hard, but it was like rowing against an 
angry current. There were some gleams of comfort ; one of 
them neither father nor son ever forgot. 

It was an evening in October, dark and chill. For the 
first time the invalid had come down stairs, and the weight 


40 


WEAKER TEAK A WOMAE 


of anxiety upon him was like a weight of lead. Those were 
days of strict economy in Vale House. There was no tempt- 
ing fruit for the feeble appetite, no generous wine to give 
strength to the feeble frame. The best medicine that the'^in- 
valid had were the cheering kindly words of his wife, the 
love of his son. 

That evening Felix came home late from his office ; he 
was tired owing to the hard work and ill fortune of the 
day. He fought nobly with misfortune, but he fought . in 
vain. His kind face brightened when he saw a letter for 
him. It must be from Violet. Who would write to him 
except Violet? And despite all his sorrows his heart 
glowed as he thought of her, his beautiful love. Oh, to es- 
cape, if only for one hour, and sun himself in the light of 
her presence ! He saw her so seldom now. He was hard 
at work during the day, and the nights were too cold for 
walks and rambles. He occasionally went over to the 
Limes ; but the welcome that he received there was not of 
the warmest, and he could not see Violet alone. 

He took up the letter with a smile, and read it. It was 
not from Violet, but from her father, Francis Haye, saying 
that the marriage must be deferred for at least a year, as 
he was quite sure that under the circumstances Felix could 
not hamper himself with a wife. “Violet was,” he said, 
“of the same opinion, as he would see,” and, indeed, there 
was a rose-tinted, sweet-scented note from Violet — just a 
few lines — to the effect that she thought . her father was 
right. 

He laid the notes down with a feeling of burning pain, a 
thrill of passionate anguish that frightened him. Nothing 
on earth, no power of man, should take her from him. She 
was his own, and he would hold her until life was ended. 
Then he owned to himself that Mr. Haye was right — 
cruelly right — that without money, with an invalid father, 
a failing business, he could not take a wife. It was right 
to defer it. He must be patient. After all, he had not lost 
her, he reflected. She was still his own. 

There came to him a mad desire to see her, to caress the 
golden hair, to kiss the lovely lips that had on them the 
breath and fragrance of roses, to clasp the sweet white 
hands in his own, to hear the music of the voice that had 
no equal — a wild, mad longing. He read her note through 
again to see if he had overlooked some kindly word, to see 
if she had written “ my love. ” Then he thought to himself 
that the little note was written for her father to see — for 
his faith in her was great ; he could not believe that her 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


41 


love for him was not as true and as fervent as his love for 
her. 

“ Have you some good news there, ' Felix ?” asked the 
feeble voice of his father ; and the next moment Felix had 
repressed the emotion so rapidly mastering him, as he 
crushed the letter in his hand. 

“It is only a note from Violet, father,” he replied, and 
the satisfied smile on his father’s face rewarded him. 
Darcy Lonsdale knew that while Violet was true to his 
idolized son nothing else would hurt him. 

They were alone — father and son — for Kate had gone to 
the nursery — when the hall-door bell rang. Felix said, 
cheerfully : 

“ Here is a visitor. ” 

“ Few visitors will come here ; we have lost a fortune, 
not found one,” said Darcy Lonsdale, who had never spoken 
a cynical word before. 

But it was a visitor, and one whom they were both well 
content to see. It was Evelyn Lester, with a basket of 
grapes and delicacies of all kinds for the invalid, and, what 
was better still, with the light of love and kindness on her 
sweet face, and with words of sympathy on her lips. As 
Felix saw her bending over his father, he half wished for a 
moment that Violet had done something like this — had 
come to see them in their distress. Then he blamed him- 
self for wishing that she were other than she was. Violet 
was a goddess to be worshiped — Evelyn a mortal woman. 
He saw his father’s face brighten as the girl’s sweet voice 
soothed him with well-chosen words. 

“I knew you would come. Eve,” he said. “Felix, place a 
chair for her close here by my side ; it is like breathing the 
fresh air of May to look at you. Eve. Now tell me, child, 
something that will brighten me. ” 

It was a pretty picture — the invalid lying on his couch, 
the girl with her sweet face and earnest eyes bending over 
him, and, watching them at a distance, the handsome son ; 
the fire burned brightly, the lamps were lighted, while 
outside the north wind wailed mournfully. 

Evelyn took up a bunch of ripe purple grapes. 

“I want to see you eat some of these,” she said. “Mrs. 
Lonsdale told me that you ate nothing yesterday. ” And 
taking the grapes one by one in her white fingers she held 
them to his lips. 

How could he refuse ? He was so weak and feeble, he 
had been so completely crushed by cruel words, that the 
girl’s simple kindness moved him. 


42 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


“ I have been heart-broken, Eve, ” he said. “ I did not 
care to get well. ” 

“ You will live it down,” she returned, gently ; “ and those 
who have doubted you will be the first to feel ashamed of 
their injustice. ” 

“You have never doubted me, Eve?” 

“ Oh, never ! How could I ? I should doubt all the world 
first. ” 

Then she arose from her chair and knelt down by his 
side ; she took both his hands — such thin, worn hands ! — 
in hers, and held them there. 

“I came to say something to you, Mr. Lonsdale,” said 
she ; “ and now that I am here I have hardly the courage. 
Promise not to be angry with me. ” 

“ I could not be if I tried, dear child,” he replied. 

Her face fiushed, and the light deepened in her eyes. 

“You have known me all my life,” she said— “have you 
not ? — ever since I came here, a little friendless child. ” 

“Yes, it is true. Eve.” 

“ And you have always been kind to me. I have come to 
you in a score of childish troubles, and you were always 
kind to me. Now I want you to let me repay you for all 
your kindness. ” She spoke so quickly that he could not 
interrupt her. “ I want to help you. You know that I have 
money, plenty of money, all lying idle — for I want none, 
and Aunt Jane will not touch it. Do accept it ; let me give 
it to you. I shall never want it, for I shall never marry. 
Do take it ; you would make me happier than any one in 
the wide world if you would. I am so grieved and so sorry 
that I would go out and work for you if you would let me. 
If you will not accept it, borrow it until you can repay me. 
Do not refuse me — let me help you.” 

Felix had come nearer to her, listening in wonder to the 
passionate words. Mr. Lonsdale drew the fair head 
down near to him. 

“ So you would give me all your fortune. Eve ?” 

There was a glad light in her eyes when she raised them 
to his. 

“ I would — double my fortune if I had it, ” she replied. 

“ And why. Eve — tell me why you would be so good to 
me ?” 

The rich crimson fiush burned her fair face ; she knew 
why, but she could not tell him. 

“ Because I love you all, and you are my dearest friends, ” 
she replied. 

“ And you would give it to me all without reserve, Eve ?” 


WEAKEH THAN A WOMAN 


43 


“ x^ll, and more if I had it, ” was her answer ; and then 
there was silence for some minutes, while the fire burned 
brighter and the north wind wailed. 

“ My dear Evelyn, ” said Darcy LonSdale — and his voice 
was broken with emotion — “ how shall I ever thank you ?” 

An expression of perfect rapture came over the girl’s 
face. 

“You will let me do it?” she cried. “You have made me 
one of the happiest girls in the world !” 

The thin hands clasped hers, and the sunken eyes looked 
tenderly into hers. 

“Will I let you give it to me, my dearest Eve? No — a 
thousand times no ! It is not for the money I am thanking 
you, but for the thought, for the intention. You have 
gladdened my heart, you have gladdened my life — you 
have given me the courage to get better, you have given 
me hope. I shall be so much the better for your coming. ” 

“ But that is not the point !” she cried. “ Dear Mr. Lons- 
dale, do accept the money. Ah, if you knew how little I 
care for it, and how much I care for you — if you knew the 
pleasure it would give me, you could not refuse !” 

He drew the sweet face down to his, and kissed it. 

“ My dear Eve, I would rather have this offer made to me 
than any other. You have restored some of my self- 
esteem, child, some of my self-respect. ” 

Evelyn looked up in wonder, for Felix had bent down 
and kissed her hand ; he gazed at the sweet, fiushed face 
with wonder. 

“ Eve, ” he said, “ you are an angel. I shall never forget 
what you have said and done. I shall never forget that you 
have given a desponding, almost despairing man, hope. ” 

And again there came to him just a passing wish, a faint 
fieeting desire, that Violet had shown the same affection 
for them ; but again he checked the thought. Violet was a 
golden-haired goddess, and goddesses did not go about 
making offers of their possessions to unfortunate men. 

Eve could hardly be comforted because they would not 
take her money. She did win one promise from Darcy 
Lonsdale, and that was, that if he saw himself very hardly 
pushed he would borrow a few hundreds at least to go on 
with. But, though she had not succeeded in the one great 
object of her visit, she had at least done good — she left 
more hopeful hearts behind her. 

Later on, when Felix had seen Eve home and Katie had 
listened with eyes dimmed by tears to the story of her 


44 WEAKER TlIAK A WOJfAK 

generosity the family sat around the fire discussing the 
event. 

“I shall get well now, Katie,” said Darcy Lonsdale; 
“ yesterday I felt that it was a matter of indifference to me 
whether I lived or died, and now I have hope. Some 
persons in the world retain their old faith in me. I shall 
get well, and, as Evelyn says, I shall live my trouble 
down. ” 

He had not been so cheerful since the first shadow of the 
cloud appeared, and from the depths of her heart, Kate 
Lonsdale blessed the generous girl who had done so much 
good. 

‘‘I wish,” she said to herself, “that Felix had chosen 
Evelyn. I should think of his future with hope if he were 
going to marry her.” For in the depths of Mrs. Lonsdale’s 
loving heart there lurked some little fear of beautiful Vio- 
let Haye. 

So the winter passed. Mr. Lonsdale recovered his health 
but slowly ; the spring of his life seemed broken — he found 
living his trouble down more difficult than he had antici 
pated. He had withdrawn himself from all positions of 
trust ; he gave up his ofiice as church warden, he would no 
longer be overseer. 

“ If they could believe that of me, ” he said, “ I will hold 
no trust among them. ” 

And he did not. What business was brought to his office 
he did, but he no longer mixed with his fellow-men. He 
had taken a leading part in all the business of the town ; 
now he was absent from all the meetings, and there was a 
sense of remorse among his old friends — a slight feeling 
that perhaps after all they had misjudged him. Still he 
found life hard. There were times when the brave heart 
would have given way but for the remembrance that the 
few nearest and dearest to him had trusted him. 

Felix had had his difficulties; he had hastened to the 
Limes as soon as possible after the receipt of his letter. 
Francis Haye received him coolly. 

“I do not wish,” he said, “to part you from Violet — I do 
not say that the engagement must be broken off ; but I 
do say that the marriage must not take place until you 
are in a better position to support a wife.” 

There was nothing then but for Felix to submit ; he had 
to trample down the wild longing, the passionate love, and 
his sorrow educated him. He learned patience, persever- 
ance, endurance, and self-control. The trial would have 
been easier to bear had he found that Violet was distressed 


weakeh team a woman. 


45 


about it. He looked in vain for some trace of sorrow on 
the lovely laughing face — for some sign of regret ; there 
was none. She had written a very pretty note of condo- 
lence to Darcy Lonsdale, and when Felix talked to her she 
shook her golden head and said it was very sad ; but when 
he went to her with his heart full of passionate love, pas- 
sionate longing and regret, and spoke about their marriage 
being deferred, she looked very gravely at him and said : 

“ It cannot be helped, Felix ; and, after all, what does it 
matter ? What diff ernece will a few years make ? By not 
marrying now we both escape the misery of living on lim- 
ited means.” 

But he was half mad with his misery, and was not to be 
put oif with such words. He took her white hands in his, 
and held them in an iron grasp. 

“ Have you no pity to extend to me ?” he cried. “ Have 
you no word to comfort me? Have you no heart? That 
which is a relief to you is deadly torment, deadly anguish, 
to me. Oh, Violet, you would have been a truer woman if 
you had clasped your arms around my neck, if you had laid 
your face on my shoulder, and consoled me. ” 

The ring of passion in his voice frightened her, as it al- 
ways did ; she shrank with a scared face from the great 
love she could riot understand. 

“ I have to work and wait, ” he said. “ Oh, my beautiful 
love, I would work for you as no man has worked, if need 
should be. It is not that, but I had built up my hopes, and 
it is hard to see them all destroyed. I had believed that 
this year I should take my darling home to begin the life 
that would be joy for me. I am young, and feel keenly ; it 
is a terrible disappointment to me — a terrible blow. Oh, 
Violet, help me to bear it !” 

She raised her beautiful, half-frightened face to his. 

“ What can I do to help you ?” she said. 

“ Kiss me. I will not have a shy, coy, formal kiss, Vio- 
let. Kiss me as though your heart answered mine. Say 
you are sorry for me, and that you will love me and help 
me to wait. Say all this — my heart is hungry for it. ” 

She did as he wished. She laid her golden head on his 
breast and whispered to him that she was sorry for him, 
and then she raised her fair face and kissed him. In that 
moment he welcomed pain — it was all changed into untold 
bliss for him because it won a little kindness from her. 

“I shall bear it all now, my darling,” he said. “The 
waiting, the suspense, the uncertainty, the disgrace — I 


46 


WEAKm THAN A WOMAN 


shall bear it all. I shall remember these moments, and I 
shall bless the pain that brought me this happiness. ” 

A few moments afterward she looked up and gave a lit- 
tle low laugh. 

“How strange it is !” she said. “After all, you know I 
never quite promised.” 

Felix smiled. He was too happy just then to think se- 
riously of her words. 

“ I have given you the greatest love, Violet, that a man 
can give a woman. You will not give me ashes in return. 
I have no fear — my heart rests on you. The only thing 
that I deplore is that months must pass yet before I can 
call my darling my own ; yet I shall wait and work in hope. 
All things come to him who knows how to wait ; and you 
will come, my beautiful love, in time. ” 

There was something pathetic in his deep love and his 
great trust. 

He left her that evening feeling happier than he had felt 
for some time. Violet loved him. She had never been so 
kind to him before. He forgot that he had asked her for 
the kindness — it had not been spontaneous. “ There is a 
silver lining to every cloud,” he thought, as he walked 
home. “ But for this trouble I should never have known 
how Violet loved me. She was so shy and reserved before, 
now she is kind and gracious. Sorrow has been my sun — it 
has brightened my love.” 

Felix kept his word. He worked hard and denied him- 
self much that makes life bright, but the labor was one of 
love. He could not see Violet so often as he had seen her 
— his days were entirely devoted to business — but he went 
to the Limes in the evening. On the part of Francis Haye 
there was a sort of armed neutrality. He watched the 
young lovers, he took care that they should not enjoy many 
tete-a-tetes, but he did not take any active proceedings. 
He was a worldly man, and after all Felix Lonsdale might 
accomplish something out in the world. The chances were, 
all things considered, in his favor. Felix had his consola- 
tions in the shape of little love-letters, inclosing violets, 
forget-me-nots, pretty leaves, or some rare flower — letters 
that in after years were like strains of half-forgotten music 
to him. They were very simple letters, but they were far 
more dear and precious to him than if they had contained 
gems of poetry and wonders of prose. The arrival of one 
of them brightened his whole day. How he read and re- 
read it, pondering each word in his mind, to see how much 
it conveyed, and then locking the letter away at night with 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN, 


4:7 


his treasures. In what words of rapture he answered Vio- 
let’s notes — for he had but one love, Violet ; one hope, 
which was to win Violet ; one faith, which was centered in 
Violet. 

So winter wore away, and genial, lovely spring, heralded 
by snow-drops and crocuses, came to gladden the hearts 
and souls of men. 


CHAPTER IX. 

SIR OWEN CHEVENIX. 

“Sir Owen Chevenix.” The inhabitants of Lilford ut- 
tered the name with awe and respect. Those who had never 
seen Sir Owen made a point of talking about him ; while 
those who had not only seen him, but talked to him, were 
elevated almost to another sphere. Sir Owen was a man of 
note. He was that much-to-be-envied person, a millionaire, 
and he had just purchased the finest estate in Loomshire. 
It was called Garswood Hall, and lay between Lilford and 
the town of Oldstone. 

There had been great excitement about this property. It 
had belonged to Lord Garswood, who was chiefly famous 
for his great love of travel. It was seldom that he spent 
two years together in England ; and now that he had re- 
solved upon living entirely in the east, Garswood Hall, 
with the grand estate belonging to it, came into the market, 
and the fortunate purchaser was Sir Owen Chevenix. 

Sir Owen had arrived in great state at Garswood. Ser- 
vants, carriages, horses, grandeur of all kinds, had pre- 
ceded him. Every one was talking of him. The number 
of horses in his stables and of servants in his household, 
the marvels of gold and silver plate at the Hall, the won- 
ders in the shape of magnificent furniture— these things 
formed the staple of conversation in every house in Lilford. 
Then came the crowning intelligence, he was not married 
— this millionaire on whom Fortune had lavished her gifts ; 
and the excitement rose to a great height when this be- 
came known. Maids and matrons took the greatest inter- 
est in him, the grandees of the county waited upon him, 
fashionable mothers offered him advice about his house- 
hold, about the parties he intended giving, and about the 
people he must invite, while the squires were much inter- 
ested in his stable and pack of hounds. The younger la- 
dies wondered what he would be like, and which among 


48 WEAKEB THAKA WOMAK. 

them would be the happy one chosen as queen of Gars- 
wood. 

He must marry ; that was very certain — he could not live 
alone at such a place as Gars wood. The matrons looked 
mysteriously at each other, and said that it was to be 
hoped he would settle soon ; it was so much better for a 
man to marry young. Sir Owen himself made inquiries 
about the fairer portion of the population. 

“ Have you any pretty girls in this part of the world ?” 
he asked one day of Captain Hill, the sporting man par 
excellence of the neighborhood. 

“I believe so,” he replied — “I have heard people say so. 
It is not in my line, you understand. ” 

“Exactly Well, it is in mine — and a very pleasant line 
I find it. The only thing I dreaded in coming hither was 
that I should find nothing but rustic beauty of the milk- 
maid sort. I have decided distaste for it, and the fact of 
the matter is, I am looking out for a beautiful wife.” 

“ It is a very sensible thing to do, ” said Captain Hill. 

“It is all very well,” continued Sir Owen, “for philoso- 
phers to say there is nothing in beauty. That is all a mis- 
take ; every woman ought to be beautiful. I will go so far 
as this — I would rather marry a woman with great beauty 
and a thousand faults than a plain woman with the virtues 
of an angel. I like something pleasant to look at. ” 

And these ideas of the millionaire were soon known 
throughout the neighborhood. Beauty was at a premium ; 
the plain faces gave up the contest. 

Sir Owen Chevenix very soon became the great man of 
the county. He did not like Oldstone, but he did like Lil- 
ford ; he had little patience with the gentry, but he liked 
the sporting squires. He was so lavish in his orders, so 
extravagant in his expenditures, that the tradesmen of Lil- 
ford looked upon him as an especial gift of Povidence, 
while his coming seemed to have given fresh life to the 
county. 

When the month of blossoms came round Sir Owen was 
quite settled at Garswood. He had won golden opinions 
by not going up to town for the season. Now that he was 
a landed proprietor, he declared his intention of remaining 
on his land. 

He had already attended one or two meetings of differ- 
ent kinds at Lilford, and he received an invitation from 
Doctor Hunter, the vicar, to attend the annual festival of 
the school-children, held always in the month of May. At 
first he had thrown it contemptuously aside. What had 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. 


49 


he, the sporting baronet, as he liked to hear himself called, 
to do with school-children ? He sent a check which caused 
the good vicar to open his eyes. Then, some one having 
told him that all the elite of the neighborhood attended the 
fete^ he went. 

In a field near the vicarage the school-children played to 
their hearts’ content ; while in the vicarage grounds the 
elite enjoyed themselves in quieter fashion. The military 
band from Oldstone was there, pretty white tents were 
erected, there were croquet and law tennis, quadrilles for 
those who liked dancing, and archery for those who en- 
joyed shooting. Sir Owen Chevenix, having heard that all 
the pretty girls in the neighborhood would be there, de- 
cided on going himself. No one but Doctor and Mrs. Hun- 
ter knew of his intention, and they had kept it a secret, in- 
tending to surprise their guests. As a matter of course, 
beautiful Violet Haye was to be there. Evelyn Lester had 
been invited, and the vicar had discussed with his wife the 
advisability of sending an invitation to Felix Lonsdale. 

“ There is a black mark against the whole family, ” said 
the vicar, who forgot at times that his gospel was the gos- 
pel of peace, and thought more of justice than of mercy. 
“ I do not say that Darcy Lonsdale was guilty of that which 
was laid to his charge, but there is a mark against him. ” 

“Against the father, David, but not the son,” corrected 
his wife. 

“You might as well try to distinguish between husband 
and wife as between father and son,” rejoined the vicar. 

“ There is another thing, ” said the diplomatic lady ; “ we 
must ask Violet Haye. She is, in truth, the greatest at- 
traction we shall have to offer, and, as they are lovers, I 
do not quite see how they can be parted on such an occa- 
sion.” 

“ I shall do it against my will, ” remarked the vicar. 

“Well, that is far better than not doing it at all,” replied 
Mrs. Hunter. “ It will be a kind of test ; if we see that peo- 
ple seem shy of Felix Lonsdale, vre must not ask him 
again. ” 

So Felix received an invitation. If he had known how 
and why it was given to him he would have placed it under 
his heel and have gone twenty miles in an opposite direc- 
tion ; as it was, it gave him unbounded pleasure. He was 
to meet Violet ; he would spend a whole half -day with her ; 
he would see her beautiful and admired, yet with the proud 
consciousness that she was his — all his — his promised wife ; 
^,nd when he reached that point in his reflections he re- 


50 


WEAKER TEAK A WOMAN, 


membered how she had raised her face to his with the 
laughing words, “ I have not quite promised. ” Still that 
meant nothing ; there was no truth so sure as Violet’s. 

The prospect of that one day to be spent with her de- 
lighted him. He sat up the greater part of the night, so 
that by his unusual holiday business might not suffer. It 
seemed to him the time would never come when he would 
meet Violet. 

Nor had beautiful Violet Haye been umiiindful of the 
coming fete. Her father had looked grave over the milli- 
ner’ s bill when it was given to him ; but Violet had deter- 
mined on being queen of the fete. Mrs. Brownson, Mrs, 
Boulders, and Miss Stanley would certainly be there, per- 
haps even Lady Balfe, and she must be dressed suitably to 
meet these potentates. 

A beautiful costume of white muslin, rich lace, and blue 
ribbons was provided, with a wonderful little hat that 
seemed to be made of feathers ; and Violet decided that she 
had never looked so well before. She pictured to herself 
an easy sovereignty. Eve Lester was the only one she 
feared, but then Eve was never given to dress and flirta- 
tion. 

The month of May had never set in more beautifully. 
The world was all thrilling with new life, the green leaves 
were springing on the trees, the hedges pink aud white with 
hawthorn, the violets nestling in the fields, the primroses 
growing in great golden clusters at the foot of the trees ; 
the air was fragrant with the odor of a thousand sweet 
flowers, all nature glad and bright. To be in the midst of 
all this beauty, and with Violet, was something for Felix 
to dream of. 

Lovely, laughing May had given her fairest hours for the 
fete ; every one was full of congratulations — the sunshine, 
the music, everything was so beautiful. Felix saw nothing 
but the bright ^ace of his love. They walked over the 
smooth green lawns together, and then Violet, turning sud- 
denly to her lover, said : 

“ Have you heard all the wonderful stories about the new 
comer. Sir Owen Chevenix ?” 

“I find but little time for gossip,” he replied; “still I 
have heard that he is wealthy, and likes to spend his money 
freely. ” 

Violet’s face had quite a light upon it as she continued : 

“ People say that his plate is superb. Felix, I should 
like to eat my dinner off a golden j)late. ” 

“It would be no better for that, Violet,” he replied, long- 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


51 


ing with all his heart to be able to make her such a pres- 
ent. “You know the saying about the dish of herbs?” 

“ Yes, I know it, but I do not believe in it. How won- 
derful it must be, Felix, to live in such a grand house, to 
have so much money and so many luxuries !” 

“ I know something that I would rather have than all Sir 
Owen’s luxuries,” said Felix. 

“ What is it ?” she asked, eagerly. 

“Your love, Violet.” And she knew that he meant what 
he said. 


CHAPTER X. 

“what a horrible man!” 

Under one of the spreading elms on the vicarage lawn 
stood Violet Haye, talking to her lover. They were watch- 
ing the contest for a silver arrow, enjoying the failures 
and mistakes which were out of all proportion to the suc- 
cesses. The sunlight fell on her, tinging the golden hair 
with deeper gold, making the fair flower-like face still 
more fair, brightening the white dress with golden gleams. 
As she stood there her crimson lips parted, smiling at the 
bright scene before her, she looked like a picture of some- 
thing almost too fair and ethereal for earth. Her lover was 
near her. For him the fete held naught but Violet. He 
was supposed to be watching the archers — he was looking 
at Violet. The sunlight was not so fair to him as the light 
in her eyes. The harmony that came from the whispering 
wind, the silvery murmur of laughter, the notes of the air 
that the band was playing held not such music as her 
voice. Many eyes lingered on the handsome couple under 
the great elm. Men looked with envy. Many a man there 
would have given half he had in the world to stand by 
Violet’s side as an accepted suitor. Women looked with 
jealous admiration ; they could say just what they liked 
about her, they could criticise her dress and her manner, 
but each one knew she was simply the most beautiful 
woman present. 

The fete was at its height. From the meadow came the 
hearty shouts of the children at play. Suddenly there 
seemed to be a slight commotion among the guests, and 
Felix saw the vicar standing with a gentleman who was 
certainly not remarkable for the handsomeness of his per- 
sonal appearance, but the vicar seemed to be impressed by 


52 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


his presence. Then Captain Hill joined them, and the vicar 
went away, leaving the two men together. 

The new-comer. Sir Owen Chevenix, turned to his friend 
with a smile. 

It is not bad, ” he said, “ but I see nothing that repays 
me for the trouble of coming.” 

Captain Hill turned slowly, and motioned to the great 
elm tree. 

“That is the prettiest sight in the grounds,” he re- 
marked ; and a curious light came over the heavy face of 
Sir Owen Chevenix as he gazed. At the same time some 
keen, subtle instinct which he could not understand told 
Captain Hill that he had acted cruelly. 

“You are right,” agreed Sir Owen Chevenix, looking in- 
tently at Violet — “ that is by far the prettiest sight in the 
grounds. Who is that young lady ?” 

“Miss Violet Haye,” replied the captain. An honest im- 
pulse prompted him to add, “ She is engaged to Felix Lons- 
dale, ” but a subtle sense that such a statement would be 
displeasing to Sir Owen restrained him. 

“Will you introduce me to Miss Haye?” asked the baro- 
net. The light in his eyes had grown lurid ; the captain 
did not like it. 

“It would be better for Mrs. Hunter to do that,” he re- 
plied. “I am not one of Miss Haye’s friends.” 

Sir Owen walked quickly away. There was a look on his 
face as of earnest purpose, when he saw Mrs. Hunter. She 
listened to his request, and she wondered at the strange 
light on his face. 

“ Introduce you to Miss Haye ?” she said. “ Of course I 
will, with the greatest pleasure. ” Then, oddly, some subtle 
doubt crossed her mind ; but she would not think of it for 
one moment. Sir Owen Chevenix was the great personage 
of the entertainment, the great attraction of the fete. She 
must certainly do as he requested. Why not? Violet Haye 
was a beautiful girl, and it was only reasonable that every 
one should admire her. So she walked across the lawn with 
Sir Owen, who was the observed of all observers. 

The sun shone just as brightly, there was no cloud in the 
blue sky, no wail in the sweet western wind ; the flowers 
did not droop or tremble, the leaves did not quiver, as they 
might have done could they have known what was draw- 
ing near. 

Neither Violet nor her lover saw the two until Mrs. Hun- 
ter spoke. 


WEAKBU THAN A WOMAN 


63 


Miss Haye,” she said, “Sir Owen Chevenix has asked 
me to introduce him to you. ” 

Violet’s face flushed hotly — it was so sudden, it was such 
a surprise. This was the rich baronet of whom so short a 
time before she had been spiking with such awe and 
wonder. She bowed, and muimured a few words — she 
never remembered what they were ; then, as a matter of 
course, Mrs. Hunter was compelled to introduce Felix. Sir 
Owen acknowlerlged the introduction by a few careless 
words. The whole scene occurred in the radiant sunlight 
in the midst of blooming flowers and happy faces, yet it 
was the pr-elude to a terrible tragedy. 

“A beautiful day,” said Sir Owen to Violet — “a charm- 
ing scene, too, quite rural, quite pastoral — the kind of 
thing I like. ” 

But Violet had not recovered her composure. She was 
quite unused to society, and the consciousness that she was 
talking to a rich young baronet, the great man of the 
neighborhood, was for the moment too much for her. He 
liked her shy, pretty embarrassment. He had been ac- 
customed to women whose eyes met his boldly, who gave 
him word for word, repartee for repartee ; he liked the 
drooping eyes that showed the long fringed lashes, the 
downcast face, so attractive in its sweet confusion. Felix 
made some remark, and again the baronet answered him 
with a careless word or two, 

“I hear that we are to have quadrilles,” said Sir Owen to 
Violet. “Will you favor me with the first. Miss Haye ?” 

She answered “Yes,” because she did not know how to 
refuse him, 

“ I had no idea that this kind of thing could be so well 
managed in a place like Lilford, ” said Sir Owen. “ It in- 
spires me with an idea — I must really give a fete at Gars- 
wood.” 

“That would be very pleasant,” returned Violet, shyly. 

“ It would if you were there, ” thought Sir Owen ; “ and 
there you shall be queen of the fete if I can manage it. ” 
Aloud he said : “ Have you seen Garswood, Miss Haye ?” 

“I have been in the park,” replied Violet, “but I have 
not seen the house. ” 

“ There is plenty of room for a fete there. I am quite in 
love with the place myself — it has such fine old trees, such 
grand oaks and elms, such ferns, and all that kind of 
thing. ” 

Violet wondered for one moment whether it was fashion- 
able to be always speaking of “that kind of thing,” and 


54 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. 


why it was that the baronet had such a dearth of ideas. 
She looked up at him so inquiringly that Sir Owen almost 
involuntarily said : 

“ Were you going to ask me anything ?” 

Her face flushed again, remembering what she had 
thought. He thought her rich, lovely color going and 
coming the most attractive thing he had ever seen in his 
life. To give her time to recover herself he addressed 
some indifferent remark to Felix. 

He was not gifted with any remarkable comeliness, this 
young baronet to whom fortune had been so kind.' He was 
tall and thin, without any dignity or ease of manner ; his 
gait was awkward, his hands and arms always gave one the 
impression that they were more than he could manage. His 
hair was black, his eyes were dark, with furtive expression ; 
he had a dark heavy mustache, which drooped over cruel 
lips ; his face was a strange mixture of moral weakness 
and brute force. His voice was unpleasant ; there was no 
mellow ring in it, no music ; it was high, clear, and shrill ; 
but then he wore a superb diamond pin and diamond rings, 
his dress was a marvel of the tailor’s art, and he had an in- 
come of forty thousand a year. What was the grand manly 
beauty of Antinous, the grace of Apollo, compared with 
that ? 

“ You will remember you have promised me the first quad- 
rille, Miss Haye. I see Lady Rolfe. I must pay my devoirs 
to her, ” and with a low bow Sir Owen turned away. 

“What splendid diamonds !” cried Violet. 

“ What a horrible man !” thought Felix. 

Violet had been struck with the gems, Felix had been 
chiefly impressed by the awkward gait and ungainly car 
riage. He turned to Violet. 

“My darling,” he said, “why have you promised to dance 
with that horrible man ?” 

“Horrible !” cried Violet. “Do you know how rich and 
how great he is, Felix ?” 

“ That makes him even more horrible — it is so many mag- 
nificent gifts wasted. You must not dance with him, Vio- 
let, but with me. You are mine — you belong to me. I 
cannot let you go to him even for one dance — even for five 
minutes. ” 

Violet laughed. 

“I must dance with him now that I have promised, 
Felix.” 

“ I do not think that I shall be able to endure it, Violet. 


WEAKER THAK A WOMAK 55 

I am afraid, if I see his hand touching you, I shall strike 
it aside.” 

She laughed again as a child laughs who points a loaded 
gun for mischief, never dreaming that it may cause sudden 
death. 

“ I feel that I ought to have danced that quadrille with 
you, Felix, ” she said, “ but really I did not know how to 
refuse. I was quite embarrassed — you must have seen it. 
How jealous all the other girls will be ! How Lady Kolfe 
will watch me ! She said the other day that her daughter, 
that insipid-looking girl, was far more beautiful than I. 
She is not, is she, Felix ?” 

The lips that asked the question were of the loveliest 
crimson, the eyes that looked into his were like violets 
steeped in dew, the face smiling before him was like a 
blush-rose ; that the words were foolish never occurred to 
him. 

“My darling, you are more beautiful than any one else,” 
he said. “Violet, you must dance this quadrille with Sir 
Owen, I suppose?” 

“Yes, I must, indeed,” she replied. 

“ It drives me half mad to think of it. Violet, do not look 
at him as you look at me — do not, do not let him know how 
sweet your smile is. Oh, Violet, I shall go mad if you do !” 

Again she laughed. “ You will have to go mad then, Felix, 
for I cannot dance with him like a stoic, can I ?” 

“You are mine, Violet. If I had a lovely, rare, and prec- 
ious lily, should I like every one to touch it and inhale its 
sweetness? You are my own — you belong to me.” 

“Here comes Sir Owen,” said Violet, cutting short the 
passionate words. “ I shall not be long away from you, 
Felix,” and, laying her white hand on Sir Owen’s arm, 
they went away together. 


CHAPTER XI. 

“l BELONG TO YOU, FELIX.” 

As Violet had foreseen, glances of wonder followed her 
and her companion. Lady Rolfe was bitterly annoyed ; 
here was this girl chosen by Sir Owen, while her own 
daughters sat unnoticed. Mrs. Hunter did not know 
whether to be glad or sorry ; of course it was a great thing 
to have Sir Owen there, and to see him enjoy himself and 
evidently feel so perfectly at home, but Sir Owen should 


56 weakeh than a woman 

have danced with Miss Eolfe, certainly not with Violet 
Haye. 

Sir Owen, however, was grandly indifferent ; a man pos- 
sessed of forty thousand per annum is master of almost 
every situation, and he certainly was master of this. He 
enjoyed the quadrille very much. 

“ I had no idea al fresco dancing was so ^pleasant, ” he 
said, ‘‘ but dancing anywhere with you. Miss Haye, would 
be the same, I should imagine. Who was that gentleman 
talking to you under the tree ?” 

“That is Mr. Felix Lonsdale,” she replied. And he fan- 
cied the warm blush that came over her face was the result 
of his compliment. 

“ Lonsdale ! Is not that the name of the lawyer who 
forged a will, or something of that kind ?” asked Sir 
Owen. 

She looked up at him, horrified by the words. 

“You are making a grave mistake. Sir Owen,” she said. 
“ Mr. Lonsdale was falsely accused of having influenced one 
of his clients to leave him money, but it was not true. ” 

“ True or not, I wish that I were in his place, ” said Sir 
Owen. 

“ Why ?” she asked, in wonder. 

“ Because you defend him. I wonder if you heard evil 
spoken of me whether you would defend me ?” 

“ Do people speak evil of you ?” she asked. 

“I suppose so,” was the careless relpy ; “not that I care. 
Why should I care ? Nothing of that kind matters to me. 
But I know they tell queer stories about me. They say I 
drink and gamble — they say that I — But I forgot — I must 
not repeat scandal to you. Now if you heard these things 
said of me, would you defend me ?” 

“ How can I answer you? You forget that I have never 
seen you before. ” 

“ Yet you defend this Lonsdale. Do you know him ?” 

“ The Mr. Lonsdale who has suffered so unjustly is the 
father of the gentleman to whom you saw me speaking, ” 
she replied, “ and he is one of the oldest friends I have in 
Lilf ord. ” 

“I suppose,” said the baronet, “that Lonsdale’s son 
imagines himself a very handsome man. That kind of man 
always thinks a great deal of himself.” 

“ Do you think him handsome ?” asked Violet, who knew 
that her lover had the statuesque beauty of a Greek god. 

“I never waste one thought on a man’s face,” he re- 
plied. 


WEAKER TUAN A WOMAN. 


67 


But Violet’s quick instinct told her that the awkward 
baronet was jealous of the young lawyer. 

Then the quadrille was over, but he would not leave her. 
She must go with him to have some refreshment — h6 was 
sure she felt tired. If he had only known, he would have 
sent all kinds of choice fruits over for the fete, but how 
could he foresee that the queen of society herself was to be 
present ? 

It was all flattery, but very pleasant flattery, when 
offered by a man worth forty thousand per annum. It was 
pleasant, too, to know that every one was looking at her, 
every one was thinking and talking about her. She could 
not help contrasting her present position with that she had 
occupied half an hour previously. 

Felix Lonsdale had been but coldly received. No one 
seemed to forget that he was the son of a man whose fair 
fame was darkened by a dark cloud. The elite had not 
received him very kindly. Lady Rolfe had passed him 
with a bow ; Mrs. Brownson had held out two fingers for 
him to shake, and had drawn them back very quickly ; 
Mrs. Boulders had shaken hands with him and then 
looked round very quickly to see if any one had ob- 
served her. He had not been “ cut no one had been 
pointedly uncivil, but he had been coldly received, and 
Violet had observed it even more keenly than he had him- 
self, when she stood talking to him. She had a strange 
feeling as though she were in some manner sharing his 
disgrace — as though she, too, were under a cloud. 

Now it was so different. Sir Owen’s glory seemed to be 
reflected on her; people who had never troubled them- 
selves to speak to her before now were fulsomely polite to 
her. It was but reflected glory, she knew ; still it was 
very pleasant. 

Sir Owen insisted on her taking some refreshment ; he 
waited upon her as though she had been a princess ; she 
could not tell how it was, but she seemed suddenly to have 
left far behind her the world of sorrow, pain, and disgrace 
in which, through sympathy with Felix, she had been 
living so long. 

“Here is your friend,” said Sir Owen; and, looking up 
suddenly, she saw Felix at the entrance of the tent looking 
wistfully at her. 

At first something like impatience vexed her. It was 
such a magnificent triumph for her, he might let her enjoy 
it — he might have waited a few minutes. It was not every 
day that she was waited upon by a rich baronet and envied 


58 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


by other women ; she might never see Sir Owen again, 
while all her life was to be spent with FeliXo Surely he 
might have waited a few minutes longer ; but no, he was 
coming to her, and her triumph was ended ; she had no 
idea of resisting his will, and arose from her seat. Sir 
Owen looked at her in amazement. 

“ Are you going ?” he asked. “ I was just about to pre- 
sume to ask if you would go with me to see the flowers ; 
they have some very fine ones here, I am told. ” 

She looked helplessly from one to the other. She did not 
know how to refuse such a tempting offer from Sir Owen ; 
it would be an unequaled triumph for all the guests to see 
her — to see how proud and pleased he was to escort her 
through the grounds ; but it seemed equally impossible to 
leave Felix, who had looked forward with such delight to 
this holiday with her. So the beautiful eyes glanced first 
at one and then at the other, while the white fingers toyed 
with the pretty flowers she held up until their scented 
leaves fell on the ground. Felix cut the Gordian knot for 
her. 

“ Pardon me for the interruption, ” he said. “ Miss Haye 
was kind enough to promise me that honor. ” 

He took Violet’s hand, placed it on his arm, and led her 
from the tent. 

The baronet stood looking after them with more than 
amazement in his face. 

“ What unequaled impertinence !” he said. “ The father 
of such a man as that would be capable of forging half a 
dozen wills.” 

“Oh, Felix,” said Violet, “I am afraid you have offended 
him !” 

“ I do not care if I have, Violet. You are mine. What 
right has he to monopolize you ? I know we are not mar- 
ried ; but it is almost the same thing. You are my prom- 
ised wife, and no one shall take you away from me even 
for one hour. Come away from all these people — I want 
to talk to you. Come down this avenue of chestnuts. ” 

He mastered her by his stronger will ; she went without 
one word. They walked slowly down the avenue of chest- 
nuts, the sunlight glancing on her golden hair and white 
dress. 

“Let me look at you, Violet,” he cried, with the passion- 
ate impatience of a young lover. “ It seems to me that that 
man’s presence near you must have dimmed your beauty 
as poisonous air kills a delicate flower. Let me look at 
you, my darling.” 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


69 


He held her hand, and stood looking at her, watching the 
radiant face with such love in his eyes that a woman must 
have had a marble heart to resist him. 

“No,” he said ; “you are just the same. You must humor 
my fancies, Violet. Does not some one say that ‘great 
love is semi-madness?’ It is true. You must humor my 
fancies, sweet. Stand here ; let this cool breeze blow over 
you — it will purify you from even the very breath and 
echo of his words. ” 

She laughed a low, tremulous laugh, but the words 
touched her. She stood quite still, and the western wind 
kissed her face, played with her golden hair, showered the 
chestnut blossoms over her. 

“You shall not even have the echo of another man’s 
words hanging over you, sweet,” he said. “Now the breeze 
has taken it all away. ” 

“‘Oh, Felix, how much you love me ! It makes me trem- 
ble to think of it. ” 

“You do not understand it even yet,” he replied. 

As she walked by her lover’s side she could not help 
feeling the contrast. Who would ever — who could ever 
love her as this man did ? Who in the whole wide world, 
she thought, had ever been so loved except herself ? The 
memory of his words thrilled her ; they stirred the inmost 
depths of her soul. How he loved her, this handsome, 
noble-hearted man ! His very heart, his soul and life, 
seemed wrapped up in her. 

Even as she felt these things she could not help noticing 
the difference. When she had crossed the lawn with Sir 
Owen she had met nothing but bows, smiles, glances of ad- 
miration, ill-concealed envy and wonder. Now that she was 
once again with Felix no one noticed her, no one spoke to 
her. It was like being in a different world. 

Sir Owen had been asked to play croquet, and had re- 
fused. He had taken a bird’s-eye view of the party — four 
old maids and a hopeless schoolgirl. It was not in his line, 
he assured Mrs. Hunter. He would not engage himself in 
any particular way ; he would only linger and wait, watch- 
ing for the next glimpse of the beautiful face that had set 
his heart and brain on fire. 

He satV/ her at last, standing with Felix watching the 
players at lawn-tennis, and the next moment he was by her 
side. Lady Rolfe, eying him, whispered to Mrs. Hunter : 

“Sir Owen seems to be infatuated with Violet Haye. 
Some one should tell him she is engaged. Dear Mrs. Hun- 
ter, would you mind saying that I should like to speak to 


60 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. 


him?” And she smiled a well- satisfied smile when she 
saw the vicar’s wife deliver her message. 

“ You wished to speak to me ?” said Sir Owen, approach- 
ing Lady Eolfe, with an air of ill-concealed impatience. 

She saw that he looked annoyed, and had recourse to her 
favorite weapon — fiattery. 

“If it is permitted to an elderly lady like myself to feel 
jealous I certainly am jealous. We are old friends of 
nearly two months’ standing, yet you have not spent five 
minutes with me. Sit down here, and give me your views 
about the fete. ” 

Ungraciously enough he took a seat by her side. She saw 
him look with angry eyes at Felix and Violet ; but Lady 
Eolfe was a woman with a purpose. It- took much to 
daunt her. 

“I have no views,” he declared, angrily. “I am quite 
tired of people with views. ” 

“Clever men are all alike,” remarked her ladyship, and 
his face softened a little at the words. “ At least we have 
had a beautiful day, ” she said, “ and beautiful music. ” 

He could not deny it, or he would have done so. She 
continued : 

“This is the first time that you have met your new 
friends and neighbors together. Do you like them ?” 

“ They are very much like other people, ’ ’ he sneered. 

“You are sarcastic,” cried her ladyship. “It is very 
wrong, but I really adore sarcasm.” 

His face relaxed just a trifie more. She watched him in- 
tently. He was worth some trouble ; for as soon as he had 
entered the neighborhood she had resolved upon marrying 
her daughter to him. 

“There are some nice girls here,” said her ladyship — 
“some very pretty girls — Violet Haye for one.” 

Then his face brightened. She had touched on a happy 
theme at last. 

“Violet Haye is quite the queen of the fete f she con- 
tinued. “There are few, if any, who can compare with 
her. ” 

“There is not one,” he said, and in her heart her lady- 
ship disliked him for the words. 

“Perhaps you are right,” she allowed, calmly. “ I do not 
know who could really be said to be like her. She is a 
fortunate girl, too. She has no great fortune, and no con- 
nections, yet she is engaged to be married to that handsome 
young Mr. Lonsdale. ” 

“ Engaged to marry him !” cried Sir Owen, with an angry 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


61 


scowl. “• A girl like that engaged to marry the son of a 
man who has been tried for perjury, or forgery, or some- 
thing of the kind !” 

Lady Rolfe laughed lightly, and touched him on the arm 
with her fan. 

“ Nay, nay ; it was not so bad as that. Poor Mr. Lons- 
dale was innocent enough ; but she is to marry his son — the 
wedding-day is fixed, and they will be a very handsome 
pair. She will marry him, I hear, in the spring. ” 

“ That accounts for it, ” he said, and the heavy black 
mustache drooped over as cruel lips as were ever seen on a 
man’s face. 

Accounts for what ?” asked Lady Rolfe, with a great 
assumption of innocence. 

“ Oh, nothing in particular ! But I thought he seemed to 
consider that he had some kind of right to her. ” 

And then, looking at him. Lady Rolfe saw a stern, cruel, 
set expression settle on his face. 

“ So they are to be married in the spring, are they ?” he 
asked, slowly. “I suppose this young Lonsdale is very 
proud of her ?” 

“ What a question to ask me. Sir Owen ! He is a man, 
and has eyes. I should not think it would be possible to 
tell how much he loved her. ” 

“ Does she care for him ?” he asked, quickly. 

“ Dear me, yes. Care for him ! Why, it is a love-match. 
She cares very much for him and for no one else besides. ” 

He asked no more questions, but Lady Rolfe, still watch- 
ing him intently, saw that the set, firm look deepened 
every moment on his face. She could not tell whether she 
had done right or wrong. She had told him that the girl 
was engaged and that it was quite useless for him to think 
of her ; but what did that look mean? Like every one else 
who had any part in naming Violet Haye to Sir Owen that 
day, she had an uneasy feeling about it. 

Sir Owen seemed to think that he had done all that was 
required of him. He rose from his seat, and left her lady- 
ship with a bow. 

“ He will go to Lavinia now, ” thought Lady Rolfe. “ He 
will waste no more time over Violet Haye.” 

But Lavinia beamed upon him in her superb costume of 
mauve silk all in vain — he passed her with a careless bow. 
The moments seemed to him hours before he should be near 
Violet Haye again. 

It was well for his popularity that no one saw the lower- 


62 WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. 

ing, angry expression of his face as he crossed the croquet 
lawn. 

“ I would have her if I wanted her, ” he said to himself, 
“ if every other man on earth laid claim to her, and if I 
had to fight them all.” 

Lady Eolfe had unconsciously done the very thing to 
defeat her own purpose. The fact which would have made 
Violet sacred to another man simply urged him on. It 
would be a triumph to win her, because so many others 
admired her ; but it would be a double triumph if she was 
engaged to another man. Sir Owen often congratulated 
himself on his perfect freedom from what he was pleased 
to call “ affected nonsense and he was never more free 
from it than in this case. If, besides winning Miss Haye 
for himself, he could add to that the triumph of making 
her break an engagement to another, it would be the 
greatest success of his life. 

“She is beautiful enough to be a queen,” he said, “and it 
would take a hundred lawyers to frighten me. A man with 
forty thousand a year ought to be able to do as he likes. 
If he cannot what is the use of money ?” 

He went at once to Violet, and Felix, standing by her 
side, longed to lift him up in his strong arms and throw 
him over the bridge. 

“Miss Haye,” he said, quite ignoring the presence of her 
lover, “ do you live here in Lilford ?” 

She appeared half frightened as she answered him : 

“Yes — I live at the Limes.” 

His face cleared. 

“ I know it, ” he went on. “ It is a pretty little place just 
outside Lilford. I have often admired it. Does your 
father hunt ?” 

“No — he is quite an invalid,” replied Violet, half longing 
that Sir Owen would leave her, and half enjoying the dis- 
tinction that his great notice of her brought. 

“ Ah, an invalid — very unfortunate ! Not able to leave 
the house often, I suppose?” 

“No — not often,” replied the girl, looking at her lover’s 
averted face. 

“I shall be glad to see him sometimes,” said Sir Owen ; 
“he has no objection to visitors, I suppose?” 

“No,” replied Violet ; “he is pleased to receive any.” 

“ Then, with your permission and his, I will ride over to- 
morrow,” said Sir Owen. 

He waited for her reply. Violet made none. She was 
frightened at the expression on her lover’s face. 


WEAKEB THAN A TVOMAN 


63 


“You do not say that I shall be welcome, Miss Haye,” he 
added, impatiently. 

She recovered herself. After all she was doing no wrong. 

“We shall be pleased to see you, Sir Owen,” she told him, 
with quiet dignity ; and then the baronet, finding there was 
no chance of further conversation with her, went away. 

“ My darling, ” cried Felix, “ do not be at home to-morrow 
when he comes. I do not like him, Violet — he has a cruel, 
bad face, and there is an evil light in his eyes. I do not 
like him, sweet.” 

“I wonder why he has paid me so much attention,” she 
said, “ and why he is coming to see us ?” 

But Felix was too wise to answer that question. He only 
clasped the little hands in his own. To him this girl, in 
her beauty and innocence, was little less than an angel. 

“My white dove,” he said — “my pure, sweet love, never 
mind him. Promise me that when he or any other man 
comes to you with flattering words, you will say, ‘ I am 
pledged to my lover — I am pledged to Felix Lonsdale.’ 
Will you say that, Violet?” 

“Yes, I will,” she replied. 

“Would that I could take you away from them all, and 
keep you safely under the shelter of my own great love, 
Violet! You will not be in to-morrow when he comes? 
Promise me, my darling — do you not see that I am half 
mad with jealousy ? — promise me you will go out. If I 
knew that to-morrow he would sit by your side, touch your 
hand, look into your beautiful face, I think that I should 
shoot him to-night 1” 

“ Oh, Felix, what a dreadful thing to say I” 

“Jealousy is like fire — it destroys all things,” he said; 
“ but I am foolish to be jealous. I have all faith in you, 
sweet — all faith. Say once again, ‘ I belong to you, Felix. ’ ” 

The sun shone on her fair face as he raised it to his ; the 
wind stirred the leaves as she said : 

“ I belong to you, Felix. ” 


CHAPTER XII. 

“happiest man in the world.” 

The fete was over, but people still talked of it — of the 
unexpected appearance of Sir Owen Chevenix and his ad- 
miration for beautiful Violet Haye. Violet had said but 
little at home ; she had told her father that the baronet in- 


64 


W:^AKER TUAN A WOMAN. 


tended to come to see him, and Francis Haye had looked 
up in bewilderment. 

“ Coming to see me !” he cried. “ What is that for ?” 

He did not see the hot flush on his daughter’s face. She 
knew well enough why he was coming. 

“ If it is about that right of road, ” he continued, “ he 
may save himself the trouble, for I shall never give in — 
never. ” 

“You will see what he is coming for when he comes,” 
said Mrs. Haye ; “ there is nothing so absurd as guessing. 
I shall not believe it until I do see him. ” 

Then after talking eagerly of his boundless wealth, the 
beauty of his estate, the number of his horses, Francis 
Haye exclaimed : 

“ And to think that he should come to see us !” 

Violet remembered her promise ; she knew that Sir Owen 
would probably call about one o’clock. Soon after noon she 
put on her garden hat, and, without saying a word, went 
out into the woods where no one could see her, and no 
servant could be sent after her. She sat there thinking — 
thinking of how Felix loved her, and how sweet it was to 
be loved — telling herself that she would not exchange his 
love for the world. 

Why did he dislike Sir Owen so much? Whv was he so 
anxious for her to be away during the baronet’s visit? She 
had never loved Felix better than she did that morning, as 
she sat thinking of him ; her heart warmed to him — his 
great love had touched her at last. She would not go back 
home until after two ; the baronet could not prolong his 
visit beyond an hour, she thought. 

As she entered the house she saw her mother watching 
eagerly for her at the dining-room window. She went to 
her at once. The moment she opened the door she heard 
the baronet’s voice. 

“ Grood-morning, Miss Haye. I was just saying that, 
after my long ride over, I would not go away without 
seeing you, if I had to stop here until midnight.” 

She looked up at him in simple surprise. 

“ I thought that it was my father you wanted to see. Sir 
Owen. ” 

He laughed ; he was somewhat disconcerted at her an- 
swer. 

“ Did you not see that that was my excuse for coming to 
see you ?” he said. 

Violet turned away, while Francis Haye and his wife 
looked at each other. The baronet sat dowm again ; nor 


WEAKER TEAK A WOMAK 


65 


did lie leave until long after three. He talked of all kinds 
of things which he thought would interest Francis Haye. 
His least word was listened to with intense admiration by 
those children of Mammon. Then, after promising to send 
grapes and choice fruit, after offering all kinds of favors, 
he went away. Violet was compelled to go to the garden 
gate with him. He asked her, and Mrs. Haye answered for 
her. 

“What a very good-natured, friendly neighbor !” said 
Francis Haye, as he, with his wife, watched the baronet 
mount his horse. 

His wife turned to him with a face that quivered with 
agitation. 

“ He is worth forty thousand a year — forty thousand I If 
you are a wise man you will not say one word, Francis 
Haye — not one word ; if you do, you will spoil it all. ” 

So when Violet returned, half dreading the debate that 
she felt sure must follow, there was no reference made to 
the baronet or his visit save that, in general terms, her 
father expressed himself much gratified. The only percepti- 
ble difference was that the girl’s parents treated her with 
even greater deference and affection than before. 

That night — it was a lovely night in May — Violet, sitting 
with her parents, heard a signal that she knew well. 

There was a quick beating of her heart, a thrill ran 
through her veins — Felix was outside. 

“ How the leaves tap the window !” said Mrs. Haye. “ It 
is growing late ; we will have the shutters closed. ’’ 

Violet hastened away, ostensibly to see that her mother’s 
wishes were obeyed, but in reality to see if Felix were out- 
side. 

How lovely the night was ! The world lay calm and 
smiling under the light of the moon ; the soft breeze 
brought the scent of the pink hawthorn in the hedges, of 
the clover in the meadows, of the violets in the woods. 
Violet went quietly out, and there, by the great lilac 
bushes, stood Felix. She had no time to remonstrate, for 
he had clasped her in his arms as though nothing but 
death could part them. 

“ Did I frighten you, sweet ? I hope not — I have but five 
minutes to spare. ” 

“Will you not come into the house, Felix?” she asked. 

“ No. I have but five minutes, and I want to spend them 
with you. I ought not to have run over, but I could not 
help it — I could not rest. I want to know if you saw that 
man to-day, and what he said to you. Yes, I know,” he 


66 


WEAKEB THAN A WOMAN. 


continued, “ that I am jealous. Never mind that, sweet. 
J ealousy is a consuming fire. I could not rest, I could not 
sleep. I have tasted no food — my very life has seemed to 
be leaving me. I felt that I must run over, that I must 
hold you in my arms, kiss your lips, hear you say that you 
love me, or the fire would destroy me. ” 

Once more his great love mastered her— once more the 
mighty passion in him seemed to make her strong and 
noble by example. 

‘‘Tell me about it, sweet,” he said. 

Looking into his handsome face, his lovelit eyes, she 
could not say many words which would hurt him. 

“ There is little to tell you, Felix,” she replied. “ I went 
out soon after twelve ; I did not return until after two. 
Then he was still here. He went away soon afterward. ” 

“Did he talk much to you, Violet?” 

“No ; he talked to my father,” she answered. 

He drew her nearer to him. 

“ He has not taken one thought, one word, one look, one 
smile from me, has he, sweet ? Oh, my darling, if I could 
but take you where your beauty could gladden no eyes but 
my own ! It seems to me, Violet, that this fever of long- 
ing is burning my heart away. Will the longed-for time 
never come ?” 

“ Yes, it will come,” she replied ; and this time she did not 
add her usual remark — “ I have not quite promised, you 
know. ” 

She was sorry for him. She could not quite understand 
his feelings, but she had some dim perception of what he 
suffered, of the torture of his love and jealousy, of the 
greatness of his love. She saw such pain in his face and in 
the trembling of his lips that she did what she had never 
voluntarily done before — she caressed him of her own free 
will ; she laid her hand on the clustering hair, and drew 
his face down to hers. She turned her sweet lips to him. 

“You need not fear, Felix,” she whispered. “I love you 
— no one but you !” 

“That was worth walking a hundred miles for,” he said. 
“If you are so kind to me, Violet, I am afraid that I shall 
run over every night. I would work all day and walk all 
night for the chance of hearing such words. ” 

The dew was falling, and the fragrance of the lilac floated 
round them. 

“ I must not stay, Felix, ” she murmured. 

“ No ; I will not ask you. My darling, say only once more 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. 


67 


to me the words I love to hear — say, ‘ Felix, I belong to 
you.’ Say it, Violet !” he added, with sudden passion. 

“Felix, I belong to you,” she whispered, and he was con- 
tent. He touched the lilac flowers with his hand. 

“Darling,” he said, “I shall love every lilac that blooms 
because it will remind me of this night and of you. See, 
there are dew-drops on your hair ! You must not stay, 
sweet ; you must go in, Violet. You will repeat my name 
before you sleep to-night, and when you wake ? You will 
say, ‘ Felix — I love Felix, and will be true to him. ’ ” 

“Yes,” she answered. 

He touched the little golden chain that she wore round 
her neck. 

“ I wish I were that chain. I wish I were this golden 
ring of hair that lies on your face. I wish — oh, Violet, I 
am mad with wishing — mad with longing. But I love you 
so dearly. ” 

In another minute he Avas gone. The moon was shining, 
the dew lay upon the lilacs; and Violet stood alone, her 
heart beating as it had never beaten before. 

“After all, it is better to be loved than to be rich,” she 
thought — “ it is better to have love than riches. I — I wish 
that I had always been kinder to Felix ; but I did not think 
— I did not understand. ” 

She stood for some minutes while the western wind 
cooled the hot flush on her face, and she became calmer as 
she watched the pale light of the moon. 

“ There is nothing like love,” she repeated; “and there 
never yet was any love like his for me. ” 

If the girl’s father and mother suspected anything they 
made no sign, they said no word, and Violet was grateful. 

It happened three days later that Felix, flnding he had 
a leisure hour in the afternoon, went over to the Limes. 
He took with him a little bouquet of roses ; they were the 
first choice ones that he had seen, and he knew that Violet 
loved roses. He found her at home, and he was received 
with civility, though not with warmth, by her parents. 
Violet was pleased with the roses. She praised them — she 
buried her face in them, and Felix wished with all his heart 
that he were one of them. 

While he sat there a box came from the Hall. Francis 
Haye was excited about it. It must be opened at once— he 
could not imagine what it contained. Felix offered to help, 
and his offer was eagerly accepted. The first thing they 
saAv was a magnificent bouquet — such as had never been 
seen in Lilford — the conservatories must have been robbed 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


/ 68 

to provide it. There were camellias, red and white, garde- 
nias, stephanotis, white heath, heliotrope, lemon-scented 
verbena — the rarest and loveliest flowers that grew. A lit- 
tle white card was at the side of it — a card which bore the 
hackneyed quotation, “‘Sweets to the sweet.’ For Miss 
Haye, with Sir Owen Chevenix’s compliments.” 

Violet gave a little cry of delight when she saw it. Mrs. 
Haye took it up in her hands, and, turning it round, said, 
in a most impressive voice : 

“ This is worth five guineas, at least. ” 

Then they uncovered several bunches of superb grapes, 
sofne fine peaches and apricots — delicacies such as pre- 
viously Violet had only heard mentioned — also a dozen 
bottles of choice Madeira for Mr. Haye. 

“ It is very kind of him,” said Francis Haye — “wonder- 
fully kind. I have never met with any one so generous. ” 

And Felix, who was far above all ignoble jealousy, joined 
in praise of the baronet. But when Violet stood at the 
garden gate alone with him he said, half sadly : 

“What does it all mean, Violet? I cannot understand 
it.” For to his mind — so brave, so noble, so incapable of 
meanness or wrong — it had not yet occurred that any man 
could deliberately try to take his betrothed wife from him. 
He would have scorned the notion — ha never even 
suspected it, until it was too late. But, as- he stood 
there — and it was only natural — there came to him for a 
moment a passionate longing for wealth. If he could only 
make such presents as those he had just helped to unpack ! 

“Violet,” he said, half sadly, “I am afraid my roses 
seem very poor and trifling by the side of all Sir Owen’s 
magnificence. My darling, if I could coin my heart’s blood 
into gold, and lavish it upon you, I would do so. My poor 
roses !” 

She laughed a low, rippling laugh, that sounded very 
sweetly to him. 

“ Those beautiful flowers will stand in mamma’s favorite 
old china bowl, ” she said. “ Look where one of your roses 
is,” pointing to the bodice of her dress ; “they shall change 
places if you like. ” 

A passionate embrace was Felix Lonsdale’s only re- 
sponse, and as he walked home that night he felt that he 
was the happiest man in the world. 


WEAEEB THAN A WOMAN 


69 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE RIDE HOME. 

There was no place in England prettier than the old par- 
ish church at Lilford. It was an old Norman edifice, with 
quaint square towers and a harmonious peal of bells. The 
church stood on rising ground, and behind it was a grove 
of oak trees — fine old spreading oaks, that had seen many 
generations of men and women come and go. Great green 
hills stretched out on either side — hills with quiet little 
hamlets nestling on their wooded slopes ; little, old-world 
villages were dotted around, and the old church stood up 
royally on the hill-side. The walls were gray, and covered 
with ivy ; the old windows were of stained glass ; ivy 
covered the square towers ; the old porch with its stone 
seat was a marvel of architecture ; the path that led to it 
was bordered by lime trees ; look where one would one 
saw nothing but ripples of foliage and a gold-green light. 

Sunday in Lilford was a day that would have charmed a 
poet. The very spirit of peace and rest seemed to brood 
over the earth, while the sweet chime of the Sabbath bells 
sounded through the venerable oaks. 

So long as he could remember Felix always walked home 
with Violet, from church ; when they were children they 
ran down the hills in very gladness of heart, but now they 
walked sedately, Felix almost forgetting the beauty of the 
fair world around him, as he looked into the beautiful face 
of the young girl by his side — Violet faintly conscious of 
the admiring glances that came from all sides, yet really 
trying with all her heart to disregard them because it was 
Sunday. 

It would hardly have seemed like Sunday to Felix if his 
privilege had been withdrawn. He went, as usual, on the 
first Sunday in June, when the old church was looking its 
fairest and the sunlight on the oak trees was wonderful to 
see. There was Violet, her beautiful face shining, he 
thought, like the face of an angel ; there was Evelyn, look 
ing like a fair, meek saint. Great was his surprise to see 
Sir Owen Chevenix also. It was the first time that he had 
made his appearance at church, and the congregation was 
just a little excited about it. Doctor Hunter, on seeing him 


70 


weakeh than a woman 


there, fondly fancied that it was due to the fame of his 
effective preaching. Lady Eolfe suspected that the charm- 
ing Lavinia. had lured him there, but the vicar’s wife, 
shrewd Mrs. Hunter, sighed and smiled. “ It is the old, 
old story, ” she said to herself ; and then she reproached 
herself for the thought, and applied herself to the Psalms. 

Felix did not think much about the matter. He was not 
ashamed to bow his handsome head, and join with all his 
heart in the beautiful words of the service ; but when it 
was all over he hastened to meet Violet. She was standing 
with her mother, and, to his surprise. Sir Owen Chevenix 
was talking to them. He gave a careless nod to Felix, but 
continued talking. 

“I beg that you will let me drive you home, Mrs. 
Haye,” he was saying. “To tell you the truth, I ordered 
my carriage on purpose — I did, indeed. It is a lovely 
morning, and if you will permit it, we will drive around by 
Queen’s Ash.’^ 

He did not look at Violet as he spoke. He knew that 
whatever her mother did she must do. Felix had taken 
her hand. He did not care if all the world heard what he 
had to say. 

“You will not break through the old custom of walking 
home with me, Violet, or rather of allowing me to walk 
home with you ?” 

She looked from one to the other with real distress in her 
face. Sir Owen did not even glance at her ; he knew that 
his cause was safe in Mrs. Haye’s hands. 

“Violet,” said Felix, “you cannot hesitate,” and the girl 
stood looking at him while her mother said : 

“ Eeally I do not know what answer to give you, Sir 
Owen. I do not know what people will say. ” 

“ Why, what does that matter, Mrs. Haye ?” 

“Well, you see. Sir Owen, Lilford is a small place, and 
‘everybody’ knows ‘everything.’ ” 

“ My dear lady, what can it matter if all the world knows 
of this ? I shall be very proud of the honor, I assure you. 
Lady Eolfe would not require so much pressing. ” 

The last words, vulgar as was the spirit which dictated 
them, quite determined Mrs. Haye. Evidently, if she did 
not go with him, he would drive Lady Eolfe and her 
daughter. She simpered a little. 

“Since you are so kind, we will accept your offer,” she 
said. “ It will certainly be very pleasant. I always tell 
Haye that the one thing I want to make me perfectly happy 
is a carriage. Now, Violet.” 


WEAKER TEAK A WOMAK 


71 


“Violet will allow me to escort her, Mrs. Haye,” sug- 
gested Felix. 

Oh, no,” replied Mrs. Haye, “Violet must come with 
me. I cannot go alone and leave Violet with you. Another 
time, Felix, you shall be her escort. Sir Owen has been 
kind enough to order his carriage for us ; it would be really 
impolite to refuse. We will say good-morning to you now.” 
And she watched him while he shook hands first with her 
and then with Violet. 

His handsome young face had grown white even to the 
lips ; but what could he do ? He was a gentleman ; he 
could not make a “ scene ;” he could not take the girl from 
her mother’s side against her will ; he had no carriage with 
roan steeds, and coachman and footmen in livery. What 
could he do ? Only one thing. If Violet was to go in the 
carriage he himself would put her into it. The baronet’s 
hand should not touch even his darling’s dress. 

So he walked by her side down the avenue of limes, and 
they reached the high road where the carriage stood. 
There were many curious eyes watching them. Lady Eolfe 
and the fair Lavinia looked on in angry indignation. 

“ What does that girl mean by encouraging Sir Owen ?” 
said the mother. “ Surely one lover ought to be enough for 
her. Felix Lonsdale must be blind. ” 

“ Perhaps he cannot help himself, mamma, ” returned the 
philosophical daughter, and in that she was right. 

When Felix had helped Violet into the carriage he bent 
over her to arrange her dress. 

“ Darling, you would sooner have walked home with me, 
would you not ?” 

“Yes, I would,” she replied, and after that the disap- 
pointment was not quite so hard to bear. He had one satis- 
faction ; he turned away without a word or a bow to Sir 
Owen. 

“This is pleasant,” said Mrs. Haye, as the carriage rolled 
swiftly along the high-road. “Violet, of all the luxuries 
of life give me a carriage. ” 

The luxury and grandeur were certainly very pleasant, 
while the novelty delighted Violet. 

Sir Owen did nothing to alarm her. He talked to Mrs. 
Haye, while he merely looked at Violet. He was wonder- 
fully solicitous that she should be comfortable, and there 
was but one drawback to Violet’s pleasure, the memory of 
the pain on her lover’s face. 

“ How I wish Felix had a carriage !” she said to herself. 
“ But that will never be. ” 


72 


WEAKER TEAK A WOMAE 


She enjoyed her father’s surprise when the horses stopped 
at the Limes, and she wondered what her mother meant 
when she said : 

“ If I had a chance of keeping such a carriage as that I 
should not lightly throw it away. ” 


CHAPTER Xiy. 

THE BALL-DEESS. 

It was a bright day in June, the lilies and roses were all 
in flower, the laburnums were in the full perfection of 
their golden glory, and again the sun at noonday found 
Sir Owen at the Limes. He had discovered Violet in the 
garden dreaming idly among the roses. It was a pictur 
esque, old-fashioned garden, with quaint-looking seats 
under the trees and a pretty arbor of trellis-work in the 
background. Sir Owen professed himself so charmed with 
it that he would not go into the house, and Mr. and Mrs. 
Haye went out to meet him there. 

After the first greetings were over he turned to Violet. 

“ Miss Haye, ” he said, “ I have come on purpose to see 
you. Do you remember our conversation about a fete in 
the park ? You said that you thought it would be very 
pleasant. ” 

Violet looked up with animation. 

“ Yes, I remember now, ” she^replied. “ I had forgotten it. ” 

“ I have come to say that if it pleases you I will give 
orders for everything to be prepared for it. What do you 
say ?” 

She looked at him with a curious expression on her face, 
while her father and mother glanced at each other. 

“ What do I say ?” she echoed. ‘‘ I have nothing to say, 
Sir Owen, but that I have no doubt it will be very pleas- 
ant. ” 

Sir Owen looked disconcerted. After a pause he added : 

“ But you do not understand. If I give the fete at all it 
will be in your honor and to please you. Everything in it 
shall be as you wish — ^you shall choose your own amuse- 
ments — indeed, you shall be the queen of it. Now what do 
you say?” 

Mrs. Haye frowned at her daughter. 

“You must really show some little interest in it, Violet,” 
she said, “ since Sir Owen is so good as to consult you. ” 

“‘Consult’ — that is just the right word, Mrs. Haye — ■ 
thank you. That reminds me,” he added, with a smile, 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN ' 73 

Lady Rolfe told me to consult her when I found myself 
in any difficulty. ” 

Violet looked up with an air of great relief. 

“I wish you would,” she said. “She knows far more 
about such matters than I do.” 

“But you see it is your opinion I want, not hers,” said 
Sir Owen. “ I thought of this — a fete in the park, and, to 
wind up with, a grand ball in the house. We could have 
Pearson’s quadrille band from London ; and I thought of 
sending to Gunter for the supper. What do you think 
of it?” 

Her beautiful face paled a little and then flushed. 

“ I think it would be most delightful, ” she replied. 

“ Though Mr. Haye is an invalid, still he would like to 
see everything going on, ” continued Sir Owen. “ Perhaps 
he, Mrs. Haye, and yourself would come to the Hall on the 
day before the/efe, and stay until the day after.” 

“I should like it very much, ” declared Mr. Haye. “I 
have not had such a treat for years. ” 

“ Nor have I, ” said his wife. “ I cannot imagine anything 
that I shoufd like better. ” 

After that Violet could raise no objections. 

“ But you must grant me one favor, ” continued Sir Owen 
— “ you must promise to open the ball with me. ” 

Again the girl’s beautiful face flushed and paled, but hei 
mother looked impatiently at her. 

“Why do you hesitate, Violet?” she said. “It is an 
honor of which any lady in the county might be proud. ” 

“You consent, then?” pursued Sir Owen. 

“Yes, lam willing,” she replied, inwardly dreading all 
that Felix would say about it, yet half delighted with the 
idea. 

“ And I have your sanction for all that I do. Is there 
anything you wish to suggest in the way of improvement ?” 

“No, I think not,” she replied, more than half fright- 
ened. 

“ What do you say to Tuesday week ?” he asked. “ Then 
I can drive over here, and take you all to Garswood on the 
Monday. Lady Eolfe will stay two days; we shall be 
quite a pleasant little party. I may rely upon you ?” 

“Yes,” agreed Violet, still somewhat nervous; then, 
looking up at him quite suddenly, “ Why do you set store 
by my opinion and sanction ?” she asked. “ I do not know 
anything of these matters ; I do not understand why you 
consult me.” 


74 


WEAKER THAN A W03£AN. 


Sir Owen laughed a loud, hearty laugh that was music to 
the ears of Francis Haye and his wife. 

“ I have a reason, ” he replied, “ and a very serious one ; I 
will speak to you about it later on. ” 

She could not imagine to what he alluded, and Mrs. 
Haye listened in silence. 

Sir Owen showed her a list of names. 

‘‘ I thought of sending invitations to these people, ” he 
said. “ If there are any among them you do not like, 
strike them out ; if there are any you wish to ask, add 
them. ” 

She read the long list of names, and then produced her 
little pencil-case ; she added two more — those of Evelyn 
Lester and Felix Lonsdale. 

“That is her lover,” thought Sir Owen, as he looked re- 
flectively at them. “Well, he may come — it will save 
trouble. When he sees all that he will see, he will be 
taught a lesson. ” 

Violet was more pleased and contented when he smiled. 
She did not know why she felt so greatly relieved. 

Then Sir Owen rose to take his leave ; he was going to 
London that evening, he said, and it would be some days 
before he would see them again. He asked Violet to go 
with him to the garden gate ; and again, when Mrs. Haye 
saw the peculiar expression on her husband’s face, she 
whispered : 

“ Not one word, Francis Haye, not one word, or you will 
spoil it all, ” and he obediently held his peace. 

They saw a look of perplexity on Violet’s beautiful face 
all that day, and she had lost her animation. She fell into 
long fits of musing ; she was unlike herself ; but no word 
from father or mother helped her in her difficulty, or 
solved her doubts. 

Felix had been quite pleased about his invitation ; he 
smiled, and thought to himself how foolish he had been. 
What could be more natural than that Sir Owen should 
admire his beautiful Violet? He could not help it ; he told 
himself that he had been unreasonably jealous, that here 
was a proof of it. If Sir Owen had entertained any false, 
dishonorable notion of supplanting him in Violet’s affec- 
tions, here was a proof that he had changed his mind. 
Another and more generous idea still came to him — namely 
that Sir Owen had not known at first that Violet was en^ 
gaged, and hence had admired her ; but, that, now that he 
did know it, he had changed his ideas. 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. 75 

“ Some one has told him, ” thought "generous Felix, “ and 
that is why he invites me.” 

This noble-hearted man could not imagine a fellow-man 
holding out one hand with a smile, while he clutched a dag- 
ger in the other. He was sorry for having misjudged him, 
and thought to himself that on the day of the fete he 
would seek out Sir Owen, and shake hands with him. So, 
to Violet’s great relief, there was no cloud on his face when 
he told her that he would be pleased to attend the fete. 

But he looked very thoughtful when Violet told him of 
the invitation. 

“I do not want to go, ” she said— “ I do not like Lady 
Rolfe ; besides, I do not see the use of making friends 
with all these great people — it cannot last. ” 

“You really do not care to go there, Violet?” he asked. 

“No, not to the Hall. I shall enjoy the/c^e, but I shall 
not enjoy the visit.” 

Felix drew near to her. 

“Violet,” he whispered, “you will not think me jealous 
or disagreeable?” 

“No,” she replied. 

“ I want you to do something for me. I am puzzled. 
Sometimes I think Sir Owen must know that we are en 
gaged=— sometimes I fancy he does not ; yet he must know.” 

“ I should imagine that he does know — every one round 
here knows ; he would be sure to hear it spoken of.” 

“ Most probably. But, Violet, let us make sure of it— 
tell him yourself, sweet. He will be quite sure to talk to 
you, and it will be so easy ; just a few little words, and 
then all my suspense will be ended— indeed I have not felt 
at all anxious about it, since this invitation. No man 
could be so false as to invite another to his house if he in 
tended doing him any harm. I am quite easy about it, 
Violet.” 

And he meant what he said ; he judged others by him- 
self, and in his nobleness of heart had no notion what 
meanness was. 

There was a great surprise in store for Violet. She had 
talked to her mother about her dress, and Mrs. Haye had 
said that she must have something very nice ; but some- 
thing “very nice” would be costly, and Francis Haye was 
hard to manage on such points. 

Mother and daughter were discussing what was to be 
done under the circumstances, when a large box from 
London was brought by the carrier’s cart to their door ; it 


76 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. 


was for Miss Haye — there was no mistake as to the address 
^aiid with some curiosity they hastened to open it. 

“It is directed in a lady’s hand,” said Violet. “What 
can it be, mamma ?” 

“We shall see, my dear, ” replied Mrs. Haye. 

When it was opened both ladies were speechless with 
surprise. It contained three complete costumes — one for a 
garden party, a most charming combination of blue and 
white, with a tasteful Parisian bonnet, gloves, shoes, and 
everything to match — a dress that Mrs. Haye declared 
made her heart beat to think of the money it must have 
cost ; then an evening dress of white silk, with a train of 
blue velvet and blue velvet trimmings ; lastly, a full and 
most exquisite costume for the ball, of white silk trimmed 
with silver fringe and silver leaves. 

Mrs. Haye was amazed when she saw it. With it were 
white satin shoes, a fan, white feathers mounted in silver, 
a silver bouquet-holder, gloves, and a marvelous handker- 
chief of dainty lace. Violet looked at the treasures in won- 
der. 

“ Who can have sent these, mamma ?” she asked. “ I 
do not like- to take them. Have you ever seen anything so 
beautiful ?” 

“If I believed in fairies,” said Mrs. Haye, “I should 
think that a fairy had sent them. ” 

In her own mind she felt quite sure that the donor was 
Sir Owen, but she would not say so. Violet had no suspic- 
ion — not even the faintest. She never thought of Sir Owen. 

“It must be a lady who has sent them,” said Violet. 
“No man would have understood what was wanted. 
Mamma, should you think that it was Lady Eolfe ?” 

“I am really puzzled,” replied Mrs. Haye. “We will call 
your father.” 

Francis Haye came to the rescue. Violet wearied her- 
self in trying to guess, but she could not divine who was 
her benefactor. When she had carried the ball-dress 
away, the husband and v/ife looked at each other. 

“ It is just as I said, Francis ; but, mind, not one word. 
One careless word may spoil it all. ” 

And neither of them breathed a sound to Violet of what 
they suspected. 


WIIAKm TEAK A WOMAN. 


7 ? 


CHAPTER XV. 

“love was best.” 

Mrs. Haye declared that it was fortunate rain fell two 
days before the fete ; it cleared the air, it freshened the 
grass, it washed the dust from the trees and hedges, it 
made the whole face of nature so sweet, so fresh and fair, 
that it was a pleasure to breathe. The air was odorous 
with the scent of flowers and of green leaves. 

Sir Owen appeared to time ; his sumptuously appointed 
carriage, with the magniflcent roans, drove up to the Limes. 
Nothing could have exceeded his kindness — he was so at 
tentive to Francis Haye, so kind to Mrs. Haye, so deferen- 
tial to Violet. Again she felt how pleasant it was. She 
saw deep satisfaction on her father’s face, great pride on 
her mother’s. She was young and heedless, and on such 
an exquisite June day how could she help feeling bright 
and happy? Moreover, she held something in her hand 
which gladdened her heart. Just as she was starting, while 
Sir Owen stood hat in hand waiting for her, a messenger 
came with a note from Felix — only a few short lines hur- 
riedly written, but which went straight to her heart. 

“ My Daeling Violet : — I send a few words to greet you as you are 
starting, and to wish you a very pleasant, happy visit. You will not 
forget me, sweet? You will say to yourself over and over again that 
you are pledged to me ? I trust you implicitly. You love me, and I 
am content. I kiss your sweet hands, and leave my heart in them.” 

How he loved her ! She repeated it again and again. 
How he loved her ! The little note pleased her. She drove 
away, with Sir Owen whispering all kinds of compliments 
to her ; but her lover's face was before her eyes, and his 
words were in her heart. They drove through the magnifi- 
cent park with its herds of antlered deer, through the 
superb grounds, to the grand entrance, and then Violet 
looked up in wonder. 

The afternoon sun fell upon the grand old building, show- 
ing the towers and turrets, the deep oriel windows, the 
Venetian balconies, bringing out the picturesque outlines 
of the noble edifice. There was a flight of broad marble 
steps, and then the great door opened into an entrance hall 
the first glimpse of which bewildered Violet. She hardly 


78 


WEAKER TEAK A WOATAE. 


knew that such treasures existed — that such splendor could 
be ; unconsciously she crushed her lover’s little note in her 
hand as she beheld the treasures on the walls. 

She passed through long, broad corridors, where white 
marble statues gleamed from among pyramids of choice 
flowers ; she gazed on glorious pictures and picturesque 
fountains ; and all the time Sir Owen walked by her side 
whispering gay, pretty compliments. They came to the 
drawing-room at last — a large, lofty room, with an exquis- 
itely painted ceiling, and bright with flowers and statues. 
In the midst of all the magnificence stood Lady Eolfe, with 
a smile on her face, waiting to receive them. 

That was remarkable in itself ; but that she should be so 
gracious and so amiable was more remarkable still. She 
welcomed them with courtly, kindly words, and in all she 
said she was seconded by her daughter Lavinia. Sir Owen, 
she said, had asked her to assist him, and she had for a 
time undertaken the duties of hostess. 

Then she sent them to their various rooms. Before Vio- 
let had been many minutes in hers a pretty Parisian sou- 
brette entered, who announced herself as Lady Eolfe’ s maid. 

“Her ladyship,” she continued, “thought that as you had 
not brought a maid, I might be of some service to you. ” 

For half a moment Violet felt a sensation of shame that 
she had brought no maid, then of wonder as to what she 
should do with one. She accepted the proffered help, and 
the little Parisian, Aimee by name, soon had everything 
ready for her. 

Violet had never worn a fashionable evening dress be 
fore, and she looked in real wonder at the marvelous white 
ness of her fair neck and arms, and at her rounded shoul 
ders, that were perfect as a masterpiece of sculpture, while 
the white silk showed off her graceful figure. The train of 
blue velvet gave her the look of a princess. In her hair 
Aimee placed a beautiful white camellia, and another lay, 
like a white star, in the bodice of her dress. 

To Aimee it was a labor of love to dress Miss Haye. She 
did wonders with the shining, golden hair ; and when Vio- 
let was ready to go down-stairs she stood before the great 
mirror in wonder. Was that exquisitely radiant girl her- 
self ? She longed for Felix to see her. There was no pleas- 
ure without him. How he would admire her ! 

What a never-to-be-forgotten evening it was I Her greatest 
difficulty was in keeping herself from expressing her won- 
der. She went down to the drawing-room, and found two 
or three other ladies with Lady Eolfe, She had ai> uneasy 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. 


79 


consciousness that they were all talking about her as she 
entered, for they stopped suddenly, and looked at her cu- 
riously. But Lady Bolfe introduced her, and they were so 
startled by her striking beauty that they were more than 
civil to her. Sir Owen almost followed her into the room. 
How his eyes brightened as he saw her ! 

“ For a girl like that to marry a country solicitor, to hide 
such beauty as hers in a place like Lilford, is simple mad- 
ness, ” he said to himself. “ She will thank me in after 
years for saving her from such a fate. ’’ 

Then he went up to her, and scarcely left her all the 
evening. It was against the laws of etiquette for him to 
take her down to dinner ; but Lady Eolfe accepted his apol- 
ogy with a smile. That astute lady had explained the mo- 
tives of her policy to Lavinia. 

understand Sir Owen,” she said. ‘‘If any one opposes 
him he will lose his reason over the girl. Place no obstacle 
in the way of his admiration, and he will soon tire of her. 
He cannot marry her, for she is engaged to Felix Lons- 
dale.” 

So, with great amiability. Lady Eolfe had accepted Sir 
Owen’s invitation to act as hostess for three or four days. 
She had determined that she would give him every oppor- 
tunity of being with Violet, on the principle that the more 
he saw of her the sooner he would tire of her. Sir Owen 
took her down to dinner, and sat by her side. Violet was 
dazed with wonder. She saw the superb gold and silver 
plate, the magnificent epergnes, the rare flowers, the costly 
wines, and richly cut glass. She felt half afraid of the 
well-trained butler and his noiseless assistants — it was all 
a scene of splendor and magnificence, that dazed and be- 
wildered her. 

Sir Owen gave her little time to think, and every one 
took their cue from him — visitors and servants. Violet was 
queen of the evening. She concealed her trepidation, and 
carefully watching Lady Eolfe, she imitated her exactly. 
Then, when the ladies withdrew, she was the center of ob- 
servation — her exquisite beauty, her dainty dress, the at- 
tention paid to her by Sir Owen, made her the most impor- 
tant person present. 

Sir Owen did not long delay entering the drawing-room ; 
and then he selected a luxurious chair, and enthroned her. 
He found her a footstool ; he waited upon her as though she 
had been a princess and he a page ; he never left her ; and 
she, looking at the splendor which surrounded her — look- 
ing at the wealth, the maguificeuce— wondered that she 


80 


weakeh than a woman. 


should play a part in such a scene. It was a night of tri- 
umph for her ; but she did not forget Felix ; all would 
have been perfect had he been by her side. 

The guests talked of the morrow’s — they had music 
and cards. Sir Owen gave Violet a lesson in cards ; and 
when the evening was over she went to her mother. 

“Mamma,” she said, “how delightful it has all been ! I 
am so sorry that it is over. I wish it would last forever.” 

Mrs. Haye smiled. 

“ It is more pleasant, Violet, than the struggle that falls 
to the lot of people with limited means. ” 

It was pleasant. The dainty, luxury-loving nature found 
it wonderfully pleasant. Violet smiled to herself as she 
sat in her room that night. Aimee was brushing the long, 
shining, golden hair. She was surrounded by every luxury 
— hangings of silk and lace, Dresden china, Bohemian 
glass ; the room was a marvel in its way. She smiled as 
she realized how dear luxury was to her already — how she 
admired soft velvet chairs and thick carpets — liked to eat 
from silver plate and drink from richly cut glass — liked to 
be waited on by well-trained servants — to live in this at- 
mosphere of splendor — to wear rich silks and costly lace, 
precious stones and gold. It was an entrancing life, and 
the other would never seem quite the same again. After 
all, there was nothing like money. 

She dismissed her maid, and would have slept, but that 
a ray of moonlight shone in through the window. One 
part of the rose silk hangings had been left undrawn. She 
went to arrange it to shut out the moonlight, so that she 
could sleep, and, when she stood near the window and saw 
the silver light on the trees and flowers, her thoughts went 
back to Felix — went back to that lovely night when she 
had stood with him by the lilac bushes. How he loved her ! 
His face appeared so plainly before her — the love-lit, ear- 
nest eyes and winning lips. 

After all, love was best ; wealth was very pleasant, but 
it was sweeter to be loved than to be rich. And she fell 
asleep with her lover’s name on her lips. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

A WORD IN PRIVATE. 

The next morning was bright and warm. There was a 
hurried breakfast — every one seemed to have so much to 


WEAKER TEAK A WOMAK 


81 


do ; from early dawn men had been at work in the park. 
Sir Owen came down stairs radiant. 

“ Who will say one word against English weather after 
this?” he cried ; then, when he saw Violet, he bowed low to 
her. “The queen of the /cfe,” he whispered, and she 
blushed as she heard him. 

The post-bag came as they sat at breakfast, and there 
was a note for her ; she saw that it was from Felix, and 
put it aside until she should be alone. Looking up sud- 
denly she saw Sir Owen watching her intently, and again a 
hot flush burned her face. He did not leave her — every- 
thing was referred to her ; her wishes, her tastes were con- 
tinually consulted. 

“My dear Lavinia,” said Lady Eolfe, with upraised 
hands, “ it is something incredible — he treats her just as 
though she were mistress of this house. It is quite enough 
to turn any girl’s brain.” 

Though he spent his whole time with her, Sir Owen did 
not forget her parents. Francis Haye declared that he was 
“ in clover ;” his wife had never been so happy ; they were 
waited upon and attended to before every one else — they 
had every luxury, every attention. 

The guests arrived early. Everything was a success, but 
the crowning satisfaction of all was that the weather was 
so fine. Violet found time to read her lover’s note ; it said 
how disappointed he was that he could not come to Gars- 
wood, but to attend the fete even for one hour was an im- 
possibility for him. His father had had a very serious re- 
lapse, and he could not leave the office. She was sorry ; 
yet she could not understand how it was she experienced a 
certain feeling of relief — her present triumph was so great, 
and she enjoyed it so thoroughly. It must all have ended 
when Felix came. It was like a play now ; she was play- 
ing the part of mistress of a magnificent mansion — of queen 
of that brilliant fete. She must have given up this role if 
Felix had come. She must have spent the time with him. 

“ I shall never in my life have such a triumph again, ” 
she said to herself — “never again. I may as well enjoy 
this while it lasts. ” 

She looked superbly beautiful in the dress that had been 
sent to her for the fete ; and, as she walked through the 
grounds with Sir Owen by her side, she was the observed 
of all observers. She felt her triumph keenly — it was no 
small one — yet she had an uneasy sensation, too, that it 
was, after all, a false position. She was the promised wif^ 


82 


WEAKER THAN A WOAIAK. 


of another man — she had no right to be queen there, with 
Sir Owen by her side. 

It was a brilliant fete — she had seen nothing like it in 
her life. The fete at the vicarage, which had always 
seemed to her the very acme of aristocratic gayety, 
dwindled into insignificance. The sun had seldom shone on 
a more brilliant scene ; flags and banners waved from the 
tall trees ; there were numerous evergreen arches, mar- 
quees, and an infinity of amusements. The music from the 
bands echoed through the park.. 

“It is very beautiful,” said Violet, as she stood with Sir 
Owen, watching the various groups. 

“If you are pleased, I am well repaid,” he said. “Do 
you not know that I would give all I have to please you ? I 
would do all this over and over again to win one smile 
from you.” 

Suddenly, standing there, she remembered her promise 
to Felix that she would tell Sir Owen she was to be his 
wife. How was she to do it ? She could not turn round to 
him abruptly and say, “ I am going to marry Felix Lons- 
dale.” She was tempted to do so, but it would be too 
brusque. “ I shall And an opportunity during the evening, ” 
she thought — “ I can easily make one, but not at present. I 
will enjoy myself now.” 

Then Sir Owen conducted her through the grounds. It 
was a veritable triumph. Her exquisite beauty, her superb 
dress, her radiant face, the evident admiration of this 
wealthy baronet by her side, were the sole themes of con- 
versation. People bowed to her who had never seemed to 
be aware that she existed before ; ladies pleaded for an in- 
troduction who had passed her with haughty insolence ; 
men crowded round her, and none seemed content until he 
had won one smile from the sweet lips, one glance from the 
lovely eyes. 

They passed on. Sir Owen talking eagerly to her ; but she 
hardly heard what he was saying, she was so engrossed in 
the brilliant scene. He led her past the front of the Hall, 
and through the superb gardens. It seemed to her that 
they passed acre after acre of glass-houses, then they came 
to a little hill. At its foot was the river-bank, and its 
summit was crowned with a group of silver larches. A 
seat had been placed under them, for from the summit of 
that hill there was to be seen one of the loveliest pictures 
in England. 

“Where are we going?” asked Violet, as they left the 
Hall and the grounds. 


WEAKER THAN A W03tAN, 


83 


I want to show you Larch Hill, ” he replied. \ 

She did not quite like being there alone with him. Felix 
would not like it, yet how could she resist ? 

“Every one who comes to Garswood sees Larch Hill,” he 
continued. “ It is really the prettiest spot about here.” 

“But your guests will miss you,” she said. 

“I am with the queen of the fete,'' he returned, with a. 
low bow, and she saw that he did not care in the least 
whether he was missed or not. He led her to the summit of 
the hill, to the rustic seat under the larches. 

“ I was thinking all last night,” he said, “that I would 
bring you here to-day. I want you to look well around 
you. See how the sun shines on Garswood ! Look at the 
Hall first.” 

It was a magnificent panorama that was spread out be- 
fore her. Not the least important feature in it was the 
grand old Hall, with its towers and turrets. He stood by 
her side. 

“ From here as far away as your eye can reach,” he said, 
“is mine. North, south, east, and west — it is all mine. You 
see the river like a broad silver line in the distance — the 
boats and the barges on it are hiine. You see the villages 
nestling among the trees, the rich, well-cared-for farms, 
the quiet, pretty homesteads— they are mine— all mine.” 

“It is a noble property,” she said. 

“ Yes ; there is not a larger or better estate in England, 
and the beauty of it is that it lies all together. You see the 
dark mass of woods over there to the left ; the trees in 
them a magnificent fortune in themselves, and they are 
all mine. You see that broad stretch of meadow-land 
where the cattle graze— it is all mine !” 

She made no reply ; his words and his looks confused 
her. 

“I am lord of the soil,” he said, “for many miles round. 
I know no other place so fine as Garswood. Violet Haye 
all this is mine ; and, if you will speak only one word, it 
shall all be yours. ” 

She turned to him with a startled glance. 

“I do not understand you,” she declared. “How could 
it be mine ?” 

“It can all be yours if you will marry me, Violet,” he 
whispered. 

Her beautiful face grew pale as death. 

“I cannot marry you,” she replied, quickly. 

“ Why not, Violet ? Tell me why. ” 

“Because I am engaged to marry Felix Lonsdale.” 


84 


WEAKER THAN A WOAIAN. 


“Is that all? What on earth does that matter? He 
ought to be ashamed of himself to presume to ask such a 
girl as you to marry him ; he must be mad to think you 
would. ” 

“ He loves me !” she said, quietly. 

“ So do I — so do many others. You must not marry him, 
Violet ; he has no money, no influence, no position ; his 
father is under a cloud which must darken the son’s fu- 
ture. You cannot marry him — it would be madness !” 

“ I am engaged to him, ” she replied. 

“As if that mattered. Engagements like yours are 
broken every day ; it is the commonest thing in the world 
— no one thinks anything of it. ” 

She seemed to see her lover’s face as he had looked into 
hers that night by the dew-laden lilac bushes — she almost 
heard his voice. She looked up at Sir Owen, her face 
deathly pale. 

“Do you know. Sir Owen,” she said, “that if I were 
false to Felix Lonsdale it would break his heart?” 

Sir Owen laughed aloud. 

“ My dear Miss Haye, lawyers have no heart — what could 
they do with such a commodity ? He might lose his temper ; 
but men never break their hearts — a good cigar will cure 
the most desperate love-affair. You amuse me.” 

* “ I hope you are speaking falsely, ” she said. “ I hope 
men are better than you paint them. ” 

“They are all very much alike, my dear Violet,” he re- 
turned. “ It is most refreshing to hear that you think any 
man capable of breaking his heart. ” 

“ Ah, but you do not know Felix Lonsdale. You do not 
know how he loves me. ” 

“I never wish to know Felix Lonsdale,” he told her. “I 
have no partiality for men under a cloud. I know how 
much I love you, and that is more to the point. ” 

She shrank from him with a pale, scared face. She did 
not like this discussion of her lover. 

“Let me tell you,” he continued, “how much I love you. 
I think you the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in 
my life. Your beauty gladdens my heart. To win it, and 
keep it always near me, I would give all that I have in 
this world. I love you well enough to lay all my wealth 
at your feet, to worship you all my life. I love you so well 
that neither your plighted word, the opinion of the world, 
nor any human power, shall come between us. I would 
break every tie, every bond, crush every love, to win you 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


85 


and make you mine. I will throw everything to the winds 
if you will only say the word. ” 

The pale, beautiful girl shrank from him. 

“ I cannot, ’’ she said — “ you know that I cannot — I must 
marry Felix Lonsdale.” 

“ I could kill him !” muttered Sir Owen, under his breath, 
with an oath. Aloud he said, “You shall never marry 
him. ” 

She shrank still farther from him, and cried aloud, and 
then he was full of remorse — he tried his best to comfort 
her. 

“Listen to me, Violet,” he said, and once more she raised 
her beautiful face to his. “ Forgive me — I am more ac- 
customed to shouting at men than to pleading with ladies. 
Do not think I am so cruel — why should I kill him ? Do 
not tremble so — I shall never forgive myself. ” 

She tried to conquer the fear that had mastered her ; 
she stilled the trembling of her hands, the wild beating of 
her heart. He spoke more gently to her. 

“ I am more than half a savage, ” he said. “ I am ashamed 
of myself. How different I should be if I had a gentle, 
beautiful girl like you near me ! I should grow civilized. 
Now, Violet, listen to me. You shall not give me your an- 
swer now — not yet for many days ; but I do pray you to 
be my wife. Do not look at me and say you cannot — you 
can if you will. Such promises as yours are broken every 
day. I will not let you give me an answer until you 
have thought the matter well over. Look round you 
once more, Violet — look at this stately home, this broad 
domain — think of yourself as its mistress — mistress 
of Garswood Hall and forty thousand a year. As 
Lady Chevenix — how well the name sounds ! — as Lady 
Chevenix, I say, you would be queen of the whole county, 
you would be one of the most popular and wealthy women 
in England. You will have the world at your feet. I will 
buy you the most magnificent diamonds — indeed, every- 
thing that women like best. You shall be surrounded by 
every luxury that the world can give, if you will only say 
‘yes.’ ” 

“ I cannot, ” she murmured, but her voice was weaker 
and fainter this time, and he noticed the change. 

“ I will not accept your answer yet, ” he returned. “ But 
now look at the other side of the picture. You marry this 
man who is under a cloud, he takes you to some wretched 
little home, he works day and night, yet can hardly get 
money enough for his expenses ; you spend the prime of 


86 


WEAKEB THAN A WOMAN. 


your life, and lose the glory of your beauty, in a helpless 
struggle to make both ends meet ; and you die before your 
tirne, your beauty faded and gone, worn out— even in the 
prime of life. I say that it is a crying shame for such a 
marriage to take place. You see the difference, Violet 

“Yes, I see it. Sir Owen; but — ” 

“Then,” he interrupted, “we will not talk about it to- 
; you shall think it well over — you will be of my opin- 
ion soon. Now we will go back again — and you will not 
forget the view from Larch Hill ? The first moment I saw 
you, I meant to win you, Violet. I swore to myself thac 
you should be mine. You have promised me the first dance 
to-night, remember. ” 

He talked to her on indifferent matters as they descended 
the hill ; then he said : 

“Violet— you see that I cannot call you ‘Miss Haye’— try 
to drive that scared look from your face ; my guests will 
think I have been frightening you. ” 

She made a great effort to bring back the smiles and 
brightness to her face, but she did not succeed very well ; 
the world was all changed for her since she had gone up 
Larch Hill, quite changed. There she had been calm, 
content, with just a shadow of longing for the grandeur 
around, yet happy in her lover and her love. Now she had 
been through a scathing temptation— one that had left her 
heart burning and her brain whirling ; there could never 
be calm content for her again. As her eyes wandered 
over the various beauties of nature and art surrounding 
her, she thought to herself : 

“ All this might be mine— I might be Lady Chevenix and 
give grand entertainments here— I might be mistress of 
all.” 

Sir Owen said no more to her, but he redoubled his at- 
tentions, and people began to make pretty free comments 
about the matter. 

“ Felix Lonsdale will lose his fiancee if he does not mind,” 
remarked Captain Hill, “and I shall be sorry for it.” 

“I believe, Lavinia,” said Lady Eolfe, with an air of dis- 
may, “ Sir Owen is so infatuated that he will marry the girl 
after all — he will, indeed.” 

Francis Haye and his wife looked on in seemingly calm 
unconcern. 

Violet found herself the center of attraction to all the 
men; one wanted her as a partner at croquet, another 
wanted her for lawn- tennis, a third craved permission to 
row her across the lake. 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


87 


“ I should like that best, ” she said, with a smile so sud- 
den and so beautiful that the happy recipient of it lost his 
presence of mind at once. 

Violet wished to be alone ; she wanted time to think, to 
still the thrilling of her nerves ; but she was mistaken in 
imagining that she would find solitude in a boat with a 
solitary companion. However, no man was ever more 
completely deceived — Violet sat listening to him with a 
flush on her face and a smile on her lips. He thought that 
he was making a great impression on her, whereas she 
was congratulating herself that she was not compelled to 
hear or to answer his compliments. 

She tried to think but she could not ; the only thing she 
could remember was that she might be Lady Chevenix and 
mistress of all she saw, if she liked. What would people 
say ? They had spoken of Sir Owen almost as though he 
were an inhabitant of a brighter sphere. She had heard 
his probable marriage’ discussed almost as an arrangement 
of State ; no one under the rank of Lady Rolf e’s daughter 
had ever been thought of for him — and now he had asked 
her. She had heard the future of his wife, when he should 
have one, discussed many times — how she would go to 
court, and be one of the high ones of the earth, because of 
her husband’s great wealth ; and now this honor had fallen 
on her. How wonderful it seemed ! Of course she must 
not talk about it ; but before she Anally refused him she 
would like certain people to know what a brilliant offer 
had been made to her — people who had not always treated 
her as their equal. 

The boat was touching the shore, and a dozen hands were 
stretched out to assist her. It seemed to her only a few 
moments since they had started, yet they had been all 
around the lake. She looked up with a bewildered smile 
at her companion as he spoke a few polite words ; he 
seemed to know by instinct then that this girl had chosen 
the boat as a kind of refuge. Then Sir Owen came and 
claimed her — she must have some refreshment — and he re- 
mained by her side until the round red sun set and the 
fete was over. She watched it sink behind Larch Hill, and 
she felt that she would never see its crimson light again in 
the sky without remembering what had been said there. 

There was an hour for rest before the dressing for the 
ball began. 

“If you are wise,” said Lavinia Rolfe, “you will try to 
sleep for an hour, and then have some tea — that will re- 
store you after the fatigue of the day.” 


88 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. 


Violet followed her advice ; she lay down to rest ; but 
how could she sleep ? Through her heart swept unceas- 
ingly the same refrain — “ I could be Lady Chevenix, mis- 
tress of all around, if I choose ; but I hold my lover’s life 
in my hands. ” 

Would it be a great sin, a grievous wrong, to break such 
a promise ? Then she reproached herself for even enter- 
taining the thought. Of course, she would keep her prom- 
ise to Felix ; but in the meantime there could be no harm 
thinking of what had happened and how wonderful it all 
was. 

She looked exquisitely lovely when she was dressed for 
the ball. Admiring eyes followed her every movement. 
It was agreed that the beautiful girl in white and silver, 
with a crown of silver leaves, was certainly the belle par 
excellence. To Violet the ball always remained more of a 
dream than a reality. She remembered her wonder at her 
own loveliness, the homage paid to her, the half subdued 
murmur of wonder when Sir Owen opened the ball with 
her, and then the signifieant glances that said plainly, 
“We can all see what this means.” She longed to say, 
“There is nothing in it — I am going to marry Felix Lons- 
dale. I am only queen of the /e^c, and my reign ends with 
it. ” But she could not, so she played her part gracefully ; it 
was all to end so soon, and then it would speedily be for- 
gotten. She might just as well enjoy herself while she was 
there. 

She was so brilliant, so gay, so enchanting, that Sir Owen 
grew every moment more hopelessly in love with her. Peo- 
ple could think what they liked about Violet, but th^re was 
no mistake as to him — liot the least in the world ; he was 
quite lost ; he saw and thought of nothing but Violet. 
Every one agreed that the ball was worthy of the fete. To 
Violet it was a long dream of homage — the most eligible 
men in the room surrounded her — she was besieged by 
would-be partners. 

Sir Owen took Violet down to supper — the grand supper 
served by Gunter, which was in itself a wonder ; and then 
they danced until the sun rose in the eastern sky. Sir 
Owen went to Mr. Haye. 

“ I will do myself the pleasure of driving you home this 
afternoon, ” he said, “ if you will not spend another night 
here. I have something to say to you before you go,” 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


89 


CHAPTER XVII. i 

STILL TRUE. 

“ If I had been Mephistopheles himself I could not have 
managed better,” thought Sir Owen, as he watched the 
three visitors who were of such vital consequence to him. 

“ Seeing I have had just what I wanted all my life, it is not 
likely I shall begin to go without it now. After all, what 
is a promise of marriage ? What does it mean ? People 
break them every day, and every day they are broken for 
them — loss of fortune, loss of health, a hundred common 
place reasons — ^loss of fancy — all make a promise of mar- 
riage null and void. Such a man as this Lonsdale had no 
right to ask a girl like Violet Haye to sacrifice herself to 
him. It is the privilege of a rich man to win for himself 
such beauty as hers. So far from doing a bad action, I am 
doing a good one in rescuing this beautiful girl from pov- 
erty and obscurity. What is a broken promise ? She has 
said she will marry him— -she finds that she has made a 
mistake, and alters her mind. If any one sees wrong in 
that I do not know what wrong is. ” 

These reflections w^ere caused by a simple remark made 
by Captain Hill. He had said : 

“Has any one told you. Sir Owen, that Violet Haye is 
engaged to marry Felix Lonsdale ?” And the baronet’s an- 
swer had been a muttered curse. 

He had believed himself in such a lofty position that he 
could do as he liked without comment, but he found it was 
not so. The girl whom he was so madly pursuing, whom 
he had sworn to win, come what might, was engaged to 
another man, and people would make their own comments 
about the matter. So he reasoned and argued with himself 
— and to himself his ideas seemed excellent — that honor 
was simply a dead letter — it did not exist ; it was a virtue 
to be subordinated to convenience — a promise was mere 
empty words, with no meaning, and he consoled himself by 
trying to believe that he was doing good rather than harm. 
That Violet would ultimately refuse him he did not for one 
moment believe. No woman, he argued, could be proof 
against such temptations as he offered. 

This was the day on which he had promised to take Vio- 
let and her parents back to the Limes. He was very un- 


90 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


willing to let them go. “ They will have that handsome 
young lawyer about the place again, and all the good I 
have done will be undone,” he said. 

But Mrs. Haye was even more worldly-wise than himself 
— she declined to spend another evening there. He had 
ordered a dainty luncheon to be prepared for them in a 
charming little anteroom known as the Star Eoom — it 
bore that name because it was one blaze of light, through 
the number of its mirrors, girandoles, and lusters. When 
the sun came through the eastern window, and lighted it, 
the effect was something magnificent. If he had hoped to 
dazzle them with a fresh exhibition of his wealth, he had 
most certainly chosen the right way. 

Then luncheon was laid on the table, elaborately spread 
with handsome plate, rare wine, costly fruit — every lux- 
ury that could gladden the heart of man. When Sir Owen 
sat down with them Mr. Haye expressed his regret at leav- 
ing so magnificent and hospitable a house. His host looked 
up with a slight laugh — a keen observer would have seen 
that he was agitated. 

“I am glad you like the place,” he said. “I have been 
asking your daughter to remain here.” 

A warning touch from his wife' told Francis Haye that 
he was to remain silent. She looked at and addressed Sir 
Owen. 

“I do not understand you; how could Violet remain 
here without us ?” 

“ As my wife, Mrs. Haye ; if she will only consent, Gars- 
wood and its master, with all that it contains, shall be 
hers. ’ ’ 

Mrs. Haye rose slowly, and drew her shawl around her 
shoulders. 

“You are very kind. Sir Owen,” she said, dryly, “and I 
am sure that Violet must be quite flattered by your gener- 
ous offer ; but— she has promised, I believe, to marry Felix 
Lonsdale. ” 

“That promise should not bind her,” he cried, eagerly; 
“ it was won from her under false pretenses. It will be a 
crying shame if you allow her to keep it. ” 

“ So I think, ” said Mrs. Haye, as she drew on her gloves ; 
“but I am quite powerless in the matter.” Nor would she 
hear another word. 

She hastened their departure, and Sir Owen left his other 
guests to drive them home. 

In this case, as in others, Mrs. Haye showed herself to be 
a woman of more than ordinary intelligence. An average 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


91 


woman would instantly have taken Sir Owen’s part — 
would have done her utmost to induce her daughter to 
break her promise — would have railed against Felix. Mrs. 
Haye was far too wise — to take that course would be to 
confirm Violet in keeping her word. She understood 
women — she knew that, if she opposed her, Violet would 
take refuge in making herself an interesting martyr ; 
whereas, if she and her husband remained passive, and al- 
lowed her to see just what she might have and what she 
might lose, Mrs. Haye had no doubt of the result. 

Sir Owen remained at the Limes with them for an hour 
or two, and it was Mrs. Haye who reminded him that his 
guests were waiting. 

“ I do not care for my guests, ” he said — “ I care only for 
you. If you will not go back with me you must let me 
stop here,” and she had great difficulty in persuading him 
to go. 

Not one word about Sir Owen was said to Violet after his 
departure. 

“ Leave it all to me, Francis, ” said Mrs. Haye to her hus- 
band ; “if you interfere you will mar all. Leave it to me, 
and do not utter a single word.” 

He obeyed, well pleased to have no responsibility in the 
matter — he did not like the idea of a broken promise. 

Violet had expected expostulation, reproaches, persua- 
sion. She could hardly realize the silence ; then she came 
to the conclusion that her parents must have thought Sir 
Owen was joking, and her dignity was somewhat wounded 
at the notion. 

Later on in the evening Felix came, and she saw that he 
looked anxious, worn, and haggard. Mrs. Haye had never 
received him more kindly. Mr. Haye was tired, and had 
gone to his own room. Mrs. Haye made Felix sit down 
with them, and began to talk to him about his father, his 
family, the business, and its prospects. 

The simple, noble-hearted young fellow opened his whole 
heart to her ; he told her all his sorrow and distress about 
his father — how he had been out, and had met some one 
who had spoken to him harshly in respect of the will case, 
and the consequence had been a severe relapse. 

“ The fact is,” said Felix, “ that my father is breaking his 
honest heart, Mrs. Haye.” 

“ It is very sad, ” she returned — “ very sad, and very hope- 
less.” 

“Yes — it is almost hopeless,” agreed Felix; “it seems 
as though the very spring of his life were gone. I know 


92 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


what would be the only thing to cure him. It would be if 
all his fellow townsmen — all his old friends — met together 
and did something to prove that they had confidence in 
him ; something of that kind, proving to him that he was 
respected and esteemed, would be the only thing to cure 
him.” 

“And that will never happen, of course,” said Mrs. Haye. 

“ I am afraid not, but it is the only thing to save him. 
Dear Mrs. Haye, you are very good to listen to me — I ought 
not to bring my troubles here. ” 

Mrs. Haye looked kindly at him. 

“Of course,” she said, “if he gets no better, the mainte- 
nance of the whole family will fall upon you, Felix.” 

“Yes,” he replied, “it will fall upon me ; I cannot desert 
them — I must work for my mother and the little ones.” 

“In that case, my poor boy,” she asked, “what will you 
do with a wife ?” 

He knelt down by Violet’s side, and took her hand in 
his ; he kissed it with a passion that could not be told. 

“ What shall I do with a wife ?” he cried. “ Ask me 
rather what I shall do without one. My wife wfill be my 
haven, my rest, my hope, my refuge — will give me cour- 
age, and hope, and fortitude ; she will give strength to my 
mind, my heart, my brain ; my wife will be the whole 
world to me. ” 

“Yes,” agreed Mrs. Haye, gently, “but, Felix, how are 
you to keep her ? How is she to live ? You could not take 
a wife home to Vale House, to an invalid father, a step- 
mother, and all those children.” 

“No; I should make a home of my own, ” he replied. 
“Ah, you do not know how I love Violet — how I should 
work — how I should toil day and night for her ! I would 
keep both homes.” Then he looked up into Violet’s face. 
“You would help me, my darling, would you not? You 
would dispense with luxuries for a time — only for a time ? 
You would be the nerve of my arm, the strength of my 
soul. You love me enough to help me over a few trouble- 
some years, and then fortune will smile on me. You love 
me enough for that, sweetheart ?” 

“Yes, I love you,” she whispered. 

Mrs. Haye rose from her seat and said she must go to 
her husband. She left Felix kneeling at her daughter’s 
feet ; when she was gone he buried his face in the silken 
folds of Violet’s dress ; he kissed them, he kissed her hands, 
he called her by every endearing mame. 

“It has seemed to me like an eternity,” he said. “Oh, 


WEAKER TEAK A WOMAX 


93 


Violet, sweet, you must never go away from me for three 
days again.- Every hour has seemed a year long. Let me 
look into your eyes, and see if you love me as you did when 
you went*” 

“Yes, just as much,” she said. 

“ And the luxury, the pleasure, the admiration, has not 
robbed me of one beat of your heart ?” 

“No, not one,” she replied. 

“Oh, true heart — oh, dearest love, how Heaven has 
blessed me in giving you to me. How selfish it seems of 
me to have brought my troubles here to you, just as you 
have come from such a bright world. ” 

“ I have a right to bear your troubles, ” she said ; but her 
eyes dropped half sadly before his. She said to herself, 
“ Dear Heaven, how will it end ?” 

“You are all the world to me !” he cried, passionately. 
“ I have but you, Violet. It seems to me all a blank where 
you are not. I work for others, and I love them ; but you, 
my wife that is to be, are my hope and my refuge ; you are 
the sun of my life — without you — ” 

She laid her hand gently on his lips. 

“We will not talk of that,” she said; and once more, 
with all the deep passion of his heart, he kissed the silken 
folds of her dress — the sweet hands — the tresses of golden 
hair. 

“ My love is a garment that infolds you, sweet, ” he said. 
“ The ground on which you stand is sacred to me ; the 
breeze that kisses your face is sacred, too. I would make 
my love a shield and a buckler for you. Oh, Violet, it is al- 
most a terrible thing for a man to love a woman as I love 
you. Will you tell me now about the' fete ? Did not every 
one envy me ? And tell me, my darling, did you keep me 
in your memory ?” 

Then came to her the memory of Larch Hill and the 
fiery temptation she had battled with there ; but she an- 
swered him : 

“Yes, I remembered you the whole time,” and he clasped 
her in his arms. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

ANOTHER TEMPTATION. 

“ A dreary future, ” said Mrs. Haye, “ a dreary future. I 
cannot tell you how sorry I am for Felix, Violet.” 

For Mrs. Haye was true to her tactics. She never named 


94 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


Sir Owen at all — she left him quite out of the question ; 
but she talked incessantly of Felix, and always in the most 
kind and pitying manner. She deplored his fate ; she de- 
clared it was the saddest she had ever known. To think 
that a man so young and so gifted should be burdened with 
the maintenance of so large a family. She feared he would 
not have the strength to manage it. 

They were arranging a wardrobe one day, and the beau- 
tiful dresses so mysteriously sent for the fete lay within it. 

‘"Violet,” said Mrs. Haye, solemnly, “if I were you, I 
would put those dresses away out of sight ; you will never 
want them again ; you will never have an opportunity of 
wearing them.” 

“ Mamma, do you think I am going to live in a cloister ?” 
she asked. 

“ No, my dear, certainly not ; but I know where and how 
you are going to live. It will be in a small house on very 
limited means. ” 

“I shall go out at times,” said Violet. 

“Yes, but you will not be invited to such places as Gars- 
wood — it is out of the question ; poor Felix could neither 
visit nor receive such people. And now that we are speak- 
ing of it, Violet, I think it would be just as well if you 
would try to learn a little of domestic work. You have 
been foolishly brought up, I am afraid. ” 

“Why should I learn to work, mamma?” she asked, 
looking at her hands, so white, so delicate. “ I am sure 
Felix will never like to see me working. ” 

“ He will not be able to help it, poor fellow !” Mrs. Haye 
said, pityingly. “ But you must look your future in the 
face, Violet ; you cannot spend all your life in waiting for 
him — waiting until your hair grows gray, and your youth 
only your dream ; and, if you marry him, it must be to 
help him. ” 

“ So I will help him, mamma, ” she replied. 

“ That is quite right, ” said Mrs. Haye, serenely. “ I am 
glad to hear you say so. I should like you to understand 
what helping in this case means. Felix will have to keep 
up Vale House and maintain all his stepmother’s family. 
He will not, of course, have much to spare for himself : 
hence he will want all the care and economy possible in 
his household. You should learn to cook, to sew, to iron, 
to manage a house, for you will not be able to keep more 
than one servant, if you manage to do that. ” 

“Mammal” cried Violet, in dismay, and she raised her 


WEAKER THAK A WOMAK. 


95 


pretty white hands with the pink tapering fingers depre- 

catingly. , ^ _ 

“I am sure of it, Violet. I know what money is, and 
how far it goes. With every man’s hand against him 
Felix will have a hard struggle, and the only way in which 
you can helj) him will be by spending as little money as 
you can.” . 

Then wise Mrs. Haye left the words to work their effect. 

In the meantime Sir Owen devoted himself unceasingly 
to Violet. Every day brought some lavish gift or other to 
the Limes— great hampers of game and fruit, of rare for- 
eign wines, of fiower& — and Violet said nothing of them 
before Felix, because she saw he was hurt that he could 
not do the same — and during that period the girl’s mind 
was tortured and harassed by doubts and fears. 

It was such a chance to miss. She might be Lady Cheve- 
nix of Oarswood ; she might be the wealthiest woman in 
all the county ; and yet she had elected to be nothing all 
her life but a mere domestic drudge. When Sir Owen 
came over and insisted upon driving her out, she would 
say to herself that luxury was a necessity for her, that she 
could not live without it, that she must have it. Then Eve 
Lester would spend a day with her, and would talk to her 
with such noble simplicity, such simple grandeur, of ihe 
life before her, that she felt she loved Felix more than 
ever. At Vale House, however, the cloud deepened, and 
honest Darcy Lonsdale wore his great heart away in sor- 
rowful repining. 

One evening — how well Violet remembered it — it was the 
beginning of July, and the "vvestern sky was crimson with 
the setting of the sun, Sir Owen rode up to the door. He 
came into the dining-room, where the family had just par- 
taken of tea, and it struck all of them that he was ill at ease. 
He spoke chiefly to Mrs. Haye, and looked but seldom at 
Violet. 

“I went to London yesterday,” he said, “and something 
tempted me into a jeweler’s shop. I bought some very 
fine diamonds, and I have brought them for you to see.” 

He took some heavy morocco cases from his pocket, and 
Violet looked up with a new light in her eyes and a low 
cry of delight. “Few women,” thought Sir Owen, “can 
resist the temptation of diamonds.” 

He opened the cases, and laid them before her. There 
were a beautiful diamond star, a superb necklace, brooch, 
ear-rings, bracelet, and rings, all with stones of the first 
water, full of fire, clear, brilliant, and beautiful. The crim- 


96 


WEAKEB THAN A WOMAN 


son light of the setting sun shone in them and made them 
so dazzlingly bright that it was almost impossible to look 
at them. 

“What do you think of them?” he asked Violet. 

“ I cannot tell you. I did not know there was anything 
in the world so beautiful, ” she cried. 

“ How much are they worth ?” asked Mrs. Haye. 

“ I have paid more thousands for them than I should like 
to tell you,” Sir Owen replied, laughing; “and I would 
pay as many more to please the same person for whom 
they are intended. Miss Haye, will you try them on ? I 
should like to see the effect. ” 

But Violet’s hands trembled as she tried to raise the 
glittering gems from their velvet beds. 

“Let me help you,” he said, and she did not object. 

The next moment he was standing by her side. He 
placed the brilliant star in her golden hair, and she felt 
that he lingered far longer than he need have done over it. 

“ What wonderful hair you have !” he said. “ How beau- 
tiful it is ! The diamonds are not good enough for it. ” 

Then he clasped the necklace around the white graceful 
neck ; Violet fastened the brooch herself, and he clasped 
the bracelet on her lovely arm. She would rather that he 
had not done so — Felix would not have liked it, she was 
sure ; but then the temptation to see herself so decked 
just for once was irresistible. She had never worn a 
diamond — and these were so gorgeous. 

Very soon he placed her before the great gilt mirror, and 
the crimson sunlight fell upon her, on the sheen of her 
golden hair, on the brilliant gems, on the face more beauti- 
ful than any gem. Such a marvelous picture as she made 
in those glittering diamonds Sir Owen told himself had 
never been seen. Mr. Haye cried out in admiration. 

“ She is like the Queen of Sheba, ” he said. 

“ She is fairer than any queen, ” laughed Sir Owen. “ You 
ought to wear diamonds. Miss Haye. You were born to 
wear them. Knowing that, and feeling sure how well they 
would become you, I have ventured to buy these for you ; 
will you honor me by accepting them ?” 

But Violet drew back from the mirror with a pale, scared 
face, and a movement so sudden that the light in the dia- 
monds was like gleams of fire scattered over her. 

“You bought them for me?” she said. 

“Yes, and I hope you will honor me by accepting them,” 
he replied, with a low bow. 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


97 


“ I cannot,” she said, quietly ; “ they are too valuable. I 
should never wear them. ” 

“You shall wear them at Court,” he told her, “and no 
royal duchess has finer. ” 

“Felix Lonsdale would not be willing,” she said, calmly ; 
“ I cannot take them. ” 

An angry fiush burned his face, a lurid light leaped into 
his eyes, but a sign from Mrs. Haye controlled him. 

“ My daughter is quite right. Sir Owen. She cannot take 
these diamonds from you while she is the promised wife of 
Felix Lonsdale. I will help you, Violet.” 

The diamonds were taken off and restored to their cases. 
Mrs. Haye had never acted more wisely. Violet would have 
resented it had they been pressed upon her ; woman-like, 
when they were so quietly taken back, she began to long 
for them. There was no word spoken as Sir Owen replaced 
the cases in his pocket and rose to take his leave. 

“ I trust I have not offended you. Miss Haye,” he said, 
“ by offering you the best tribute I could think of to prove 
my admiration. ” 

“ Why should I be offended. Sir Owen ? You were kind to 
think of me, but I — you see, I cannot take them. ” 

“ I will not offend again, ” he replied. 

He shook hands with Francis Haye and his wife ; he 
parted from Violet with a bow. 

When the door had closed behind him Francis Haye 
looked at his daughter. 

“You have refused quite twenty thousand pounds,” he 
said. 

Mrs. Haye held up her hand with a warning gesture. 

“ She has done quite right, Francis. It would be absurd 
for the wife of a poor struggling lawyer to wear twenty 
thousand pounds’ worth of jewels — more than absurd. Who 
would make puddings and mend socks clad in such dia- 
monds as those? Let Violet be consistent. She prefers 
linsey-woolsey to satin, poverty to riches. It is her own 
choice — we must not interfere. ” 

Violet kissed her mother, but Mrs. Haye felt with keen 
delight that there was little rapture in the kiss ; and all 
the rest of the evening the fair face was clouded. 

Another thing happened which annoyed Violet. She 
was walking one day through Ordfield lane, when she met 
Lady Eolfe and her daughter Lavinia. With great cor- 
diality her ladyship stopped to talk to her. 

“Will you mind walking on with me. Miss Haye?” she 


98 WEAKER TEAK A WOMAN, 

said. ‘‘ I have often thought that I should like to chat with 
you. ” 

“I shall be very pleased,” answered Violet, little dream- 
ing of the mortification in store for her. 

“ I wished to speak to you when we were at Garswood,” 
said Lady Kolfe, ‘‘ but I found no opportunity. I think it 
only my duty, Miss Haye, to utter a few words of warning 
to you about Sir Owen. ” 

Violet looked up proudly. 

“ I do not think that there is the least need for such 
words. Lady Eolf e, ” she replied. 

“ I am truly glad to hear you say so. Sir Owen Chevenix 
is a wealthy man. I do not wish to say one unjust word 
against him, but I am quite correct in stating that he does 
not bear one of the best of reputations ; he drinks, and — 
well, he has other faults which I must not name to you. ” 

“I do not see how this concerns me,” said Violet. 

“ But I do. Miss Haye. Pray listen to me. You have a 
pretty face, and Sir Owen is always attracted by such. 
Yours is not the first by any means that he has admired.” 

“I never supposed that it was,” said the girl, proudly. 

“ That is right. If you understand the character of the 
man all is well, but, having a friendly interest in you, I 
was afraid that his fiattery might mislead you. ” 

“If she only knew the truth !” thought Violet. “If she 
could only guess that I have refused to be Lady Chevenix !” 

“ I am not alone in my ideas, ” continued Lady Eolfe. “ I 
heard many ladies at Garswood say what a pity it was that 
no one warned you. This is what I want to say to you. Miss 
Haye — and, believe me, real kindness dictates the words. 
You are engaged to marry a very honorable gentleman. 
Even though he be unfortunate, do not lose the substance 
for the shadow ; do not give him up under the mistaken 
impression that Sir Owen will marry you. The difference 
in your rank and position is too great. He is simply amus- 
ing himself with the prettiest face near him. Be warned 
in time — he will flirt with you, but he will never dream of 
marrying you.” 

“That is your ladyship’s opinion,” said Violet. 

“ And the opinion of every one else who knows Sir Owen 
and who knows you, ” added Lady Eolfe. “ I assure you 
that many ladies have spoken to me about it, and have ex- 
pressed a great hope that you would not be misled by Sir 
Owen’s flattery and love of flirtation.” 

“If she knew all,” thought Violet — “if she did but 
know !” And her beautiful face wore such a witching smile 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


99 


as she bade Lady Rolfe good-morning that the keen, worldly 
woman felt alarmed. 

“ She would never look like that, Lavinia, ” she cried, 
“ unless in som6 way or other she had the best of the mat- 
ter. Surely it can never be that he has asked her to marry 
him.” 

“ My dear mother, Sir Owen may marry just whom he 
pleases. The only fact which interests me is that he has 
not asked me to marry him. As for Miss Haye, I am not 
interested in her, and do not care to talk about her. ” 

Miss Rolfe dismissed the matter very quickly from her 
mind, but Lady Eolfe pondered it deeply. Surely she 
must be mistaken — the best match in the county, the most 
eligible man for many miles around, could never be so ab 
surd as to throw himself away on a mere nobody like Vio- 
let Haye, even though she had the face of an angel and the 
grace of a queen. 


CHAPTER XIX. 
violet’s decision. 

So the decision as to her own future was left entirely in 
Violet’s hands. Neither father nor mother spoke one word 
which could influence her, and Felix was so engrossed in 
his business that he was but seldom able to see her. Sir 
Owen, on the contrary, always kept himself present in her 
mind. Every day brought hampers, parcels of books, 
everything that could be thought of, from the Hall. Every 
day brought a little note begging that she would accept 
flowers, fruit, or whatever accompanied it. He rode over 
very often himself ; he seemed to bring an atmosphere of 
the fashionable world with him ; he was always full of 
spirits, with wonderful news to tell. 

Violet had been very much annoyed by Lady Rolfe’s 
warning — it had turned the balance the wrong way. 

“I understand,” she said to herself — “they think I am so 
far beneath Sir Owen that he will never deign to marry 
me. How mistaken they are, and how little they know of 
the real truth ! How I could surprise them if I wished to 
do so ! What a triumph and a victory I could win over 
them all ! How they would wonder to see me Lady Cheve- 
nix ! If ever I do become Lady Chevenix, that woman. 
Lady Rolfe, shall come no more to Garswood. ” 

That was the first time she had ever admitted to herself 
that there was an “ if” in the matter — the first time she had 


100 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. 


thought of the possibility that she might eventually be Lady 
Chevenix. The temptation was great and subtle ; it was 
some time in forcing an entrance into her heart — but, once 
admitted, it would not leave her. There were many ex- 
cuses for her — there was much that pleaded for her — her 
youth, her love of luxury, her dread of poverty, her long 
ing for the bright side of life. The constant dropping of 
water wears away a stone. Such was Violet’s case. The 
constant talk of poverty with which her mother plied her 
morning, noon, and night — the constant praise of Sir Owen, 
the blank, cool toleration of Felix — the wonder at the 
riches of the one, the pity for the poverty of the other, all 
influenced her, until at length a day came when her heart 
opened to the worship of Mammon, when love dwindled 
into insigniflcance by the side of wealth. The day came 
when, wearied of everything, she went out into the cool 
green depths of the summer woods and held her life, as it 
were, in her hands. 

She tried to think of her case as though it were that of a 
stranger — as though she herself had no vital concern in it. 
On the one side she had to suppose that she would prove 
true to her promise, true to her word — that she would 
marry the man whom she really loved — Felix Lonsdale. 
“Let me look at that picture quite calmly at flrst,” she said 
to herself. She would have to wait at least two or three 
years longer, and by then the brightness of her beauty 
would have waned — the spring of her youth would have 
left her. They would be years of sorry discomfort, too. 
Her mother and father would lose all patience ; they 
would be years of constant unpleasantnessj Felix, too, 
would doubtless be always in trouble — and she, like most 
of the young, gay, and beautiful, dreaded trouble. Taking 
the marriage at its best, it was a poor one. When she was 
first engaged to Felix Lonsdale, things were quite different. 
No cloud of disgrace hung over his family ; he bade fair to 
become a rich man ; he had every hope of making a beauti • 
ful home for her. Even then it was not such a marriage 
as she with her queenly dower of beauty and grace had a 
right to expect. Were she to marry him with his present 
prospects, what a fate would lie before her ! Such limited 
means — such genteel poverty ! She shuddered as she saw 
the years stretch themselves out before her. She foresaw 
hard work — the work she disliked most of all, domestic 
drudgery ; hard fare ; no balls, no parties, but little dress, 
nothing but the care of a house — a bare plain existence 
frorn which she shrunk — no visiting. How people would 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. 


101 


laugh at her. It would be like going out of the world at 
once. But then — and her heart grew warm at the thought 
— she would have Felix — Felix, who loved her so dearly — 
Felix to whom the ground she trod on was sacred. She 
would be with him, and she would have the happy con- 
sciousness of having done what was right ; she would have 
done her duty, and she might be happy after all. 

Then came the other side of the picture — and the girl’s 
brain whirled as she tried to understand it, tried to realize 
it. If she married Sir Owen, she would be mistress of 
magnificent Garswood — she would be mistress of all its 
grandeur, of the superb grounds, the gorgeous pictures, the 
wonders of silver and gold ; they would be hers to use 
when she liked and how she liked. She would be Lady 
Chevenix, patroness of balls, queen of the county ; she 
v/ould be able to patronize Lady Rolfe in her turn, to pun 
ish those who had dared to think she required warning ; 
she could have dresses such as she had not dreamed of ; 
she would be great, wealthy, and powerful. But there 
would be no Felix with all this ; she would have to give 
him up, and she would live the remainder of her life with 
a sense of having acted unfairly — of having betrayed such 
love and faith as were given to few women. 

Those were the two paths that lay so clearly and so dis- 
tinctly mapped out before her. In her heart she loved 
Felix — and she knew it ; but that same heart longed for 
wealth and luxuries such as Felix could never give her — 
that same heart recoiled from the poverty, the struggles, 
the hard work, the economy, the daily cares that must at- 
tend her as the wife of Felix Lonsdale. She disliked all 
such ; she remembered how, even when things looked 
brightest, she had stood in the house that had belonged to 
the Hendersons, wondering what her life would be like 
there, and recalled the curious sensation that had come 
over her of there not being enough there to fill her life. 
Then she laughed a little bitter laugh as she fiung away the 
wild fiowers that she was holding. 

“I have a desire to be rich,” she said, “but none to be 
noble. I am not noble. I see the right and honorable path, 
but I have not the strength to follow it. I hate myself for 
being what I am, but I cannot change. ” 

She made no false excuses to herself ; she gave no high- 
fiown name to the sin she was about to commit. Mammon 
tempted her, and she fell ; the spirit of the world, the 
pride of life, the love of riches had all entered her soul, 
and taken possession of it. She did not disguise from 


102 . , WEAKER THAN A WOAIAK 

herself what she was doing when she deliberately resolved 
to break her plighted word — to give up her lover and 
marry Sir Owen. 

Her temptations had been many and great — they had 
been continual, they had been hard to resist ; but that was 
no excuse. She knew that she was committing a double 
sin ; she was proving false to the one man whom she really 
loved to marry one whom she did not love at all. 

“It is a double sin,” she said to herself, “but I cannot 
help it — I could not go through a life of drudgery and 
poverty. Felix will hate me, but in after years he will 
know that my decision was wise. ” 

So she thought and mused, dreaming in the sweet shade 
of the summer woods of the gorgeous future that would be 
hers if she married Sir Owen. Presently her mood changed 
and her eyes filled with passionate tears as she thought of 
Felix. 

“ I love Felix !” she cried. “ Why can he not have Gars- 
wood ? Why must he be poor and obscure while Owen 
Chevenix revels in wealth ? It is not fair. ” 

She had love and wealth both before her, yet she had de- 
liberately given up love and had chosen wealth. She made 
no effort to justify herself in her own eyes. 

“ Those diamonds were too much for me, ” she said. “ I 
cannot help it if I am not noble by nature. ” 

Yet, when she had left the woods, and walked home 
through the meadows, something was gone from the sun- 
light, something from the song of the birds, which was 
never to be there again for her. She walked as one over 
whom a shadow lies. She had joined hands with sin — and 
sin is never a cheerful companion. The flowers and the 
trees, the color of the grass, had lost their charms for her 
— there was a dark shade over everything. 

“Will it always be like this ?” she thought. “If it is, I 
shall not find my future very bright.” 

Then the girl’s heart misgave her. As she looked around 
everything reminded her of Felix. She had walked with 
him down those groves, she had lingered with him by that 
stile and under those trees ; he had been so much part of 
her life that she could not picture life without him. 

“ How shall I live without him ?” she said. “ How shall I 
spend the days, the years without him ?” Then she tried 
to harden her heart. “ People cannot live on love and 
poetry,” she told herself ; “ if they could all would be well.” 

That same evening she said to Mrs. Haye : 

“ Mamma, I have been thinking it will be better for Felix 


WEAKER THAN A WOAIAN. 103 

and myself to part. I am afraid he has enough on his 
shoulders. ” 

“I have thought so for some time, my dear, ” was the 
quiet reply. “Your engagement is folly, your marriage 
would be madness. ” 

Then Violet went up to her mother, and put one arm 
around her neck. 

“ Mamma, ” she said, “ you will save me all trouble ?” 

“Yes,” replied Mrs. Haye, “you may safely leave it all 
tome.” 

And so wealth won a soul not noble enough to live for 
love. 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE LETTER. 

A cruel day dawned for Felix Lonsdale — a day when the 
sun shone so brightly and with such heat that grass, flow- 
ers, and leaves withered beneath his fervent rays, when a 
golden haze seemed to lie over the land, and the brooks 
ran slowly over the pebbles beneath them — a day when the 
wind was still, and not the faintest whisper of a breeze 
stirred the leaves or blossoms — a cruel day. He remem- 
bered it all through his life, for the warm sunlight seemed 
suddenly to change into a Are that burned him, every- 
thing bright and fair appeared to wither before his eyes. It 
was a day which brought him a pain that never quite left 
him while life lasted. 

He w^as in his oflice in the High street — the office that 
had once borne such signs of prosperity — where the great 
iron safes had been fi^lled with deeds, and huge bill-flies 
had been loaded with documents — where the tables had 
been strewn with papers and letters — where busy clerks 
had passed the day, all too short for the work they had to 
do — where people were always going and coming with the 
air of having important business on hand. 

It was all so different now. One by one the clerks had 
gone — there was nothing to do. One by one the neighbor- 
ing squires and farmers had withdrawn their business from 
the old office. There was so little to transact now that 
Felix could manage with one clerk. Still he had hope. He 
felt sure that in time this state of things must improve. 
When people began to think calmly they would know that 
his father was innocent of that which had been imputed to 
him. 


104 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAK 


Felix was seated in his office. It was too warm for busi- 
ness — no one came in. There were no messages, no inter- 
views — he had nothing professional to do. The clerk was 
busy copying a deed, and Felix was making the most of 
his time by writing an essay upon the “Inequalities of 
British Law. ” 

Suddenly the postman’s knock was heard in the quiet 
street, where on that scorching day even the very houses 
seemed to sleep. The sound did not interest Felix ; he ex- 
pected no letter. Violet seldom sent him a little note ; 
when she did so it was like the finest cordial to him — he 
worked the better for it — he was happier and brighter. 
Perhaps, if she had known how happy those letters made 
him, she would have written oftener. 

Presently, to his surprise, came the sharp sudden knock 
x>f the postman at his own door. The clerk quickly dis- 
appeared, and then returned and placed a letter in his 
hands — a lady’s letter, with a faint odor of violets. He 
opened it and looked at the signature — “Martha Haye.” 

It was from Violet’s mother. What could she have to 
say to him ? It was an invitation probably. He put aside 
his essay, and began to read the note. 

‘‘My Dear Felix : — That which I have to say will pain yon, I know; 
but I connot help it— it must be said. The engagement between you 
and my daughter must come to an end. The circumstances under 
which I gave my consent were quite different from those existing at 
present. Your prospects have quite altered. If you marry my daughter 
now, you cannot keep her in anything like the position in which she 
lives even at present; and I am not willing to see her become a mere 
domestic drudge. Mr. Haye and myself wish the engagement to end at 
once, as under no circumstances could we consent to the marriage. 
Violet sends her love, and desires me to say that all this is written by 
her wish, and that she hopes always to be your friend. She is going 
away on a long visit to one of her relatives. Hoping you will see the 
necessity for this step, I am yours very sincerely, 

“Martha Haye.” 

He read it through, at first with the feeling and convic- 
tion that it must be a practical joke, then with a deadly as- 
surance that they were going to take Violet from him. The 
handsome, worn face grew deadly pale ; a dazed, dim look 
came into his eyes ; a great, tearless, voiceless sob rose to 
his lips ; the sunlight seemed to change to a blood-red mist, 
and a sound like the roar of distant waters filled his ears. 
He sat with the letter open in his hand, dazed as a man 
who had received a terrible blow. 

How long he sat he never knew ; it seemed to him that 
years of agony, years of torture, rolled over his head. He 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


105 


was literally stunned. He had borne all his sorrows with 
a brave, strong heart because he had a true hope, a beau- 
tiful, warm love. To take that from him was to leave him 
with no ground to stand on. 

Slowly thought and reason came back to him. He rose, 
still with the open letter in his hands, with a white, set look 
on his handsome, haggard young face which might have 
touched a heart of stone. He took his hat from the stand, 
and the clerk looked after him with a terrified gaze, won- 
^dering what could have happened to him. 

“ There was bad news in the letter, ” he said, “ but where 
has he gone with it open in his hand like that ?” 

More than one person whom Felix Lonsdale met asked 
themselves the same thing, more than one spoke to him ; 
but he did not hear — he walked on, looking straight before 
him, his eyes fixed on vacancy, his white, set face without 
change or expression, until he reached the Limes. What 
he suffered as he passed the old land-marks, the trees, the 
stiles, the lilac bushes at the gate, was known only to 
Heaven. 

He went straight into the house, and Mrs. Haye herself 
was the first person that he met. 

She was half frightened when her eyes fell upon his 
face ; so unlike was it to any face she had ever seen, so 
changed by his great woe, she could hardly recognize it. 
She held out her hand to him with some commonplace words 
of welcome. He did not hear them. 

“Come in here,” he said, and, taking her arm, he led her 
into the nearest room. “Tell me,” he asked, “did you write 
this ?” 

There was nothing to be said but the truth, yet in all her 
life Mrs. Haye had never been more frightened. She had 
to deal with a desperate man. 

“Yes, I wrote it, Felix ; it was wisest, kindest, best.” 

“And you say that Violet is willing — that Violet knows 
about it ?” 

“ I wrote it with her express sanction, ” she replied. 

“ It is false ! I would not believe you if you swore it I I 
will not believe it ! Heaven is not so cruel. ” 

“There is no cruelty in it,” said Mrs. Haye ; “it is what 
must be done. ” 

“ Must be done ! Do you know that she is my life itself, 
that I have no life apart from her, no hope that does not 
begin and end with her ? If you take her from me, you 
leave a dead body — she is my soul itself !” 

He paused, for the passion of his words overcame him 


106 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. 


How was he to tell this woman what Violet, his beautiful 
love, was to him ? How weak and impotent words were ! 

“I know that you are very fond of her,” Mrs. Haye 
said, gently; “still it cannot be — it cannot, indeed.” 

“Will you tell me why you have done this cruel deed ? 
What is your motive ?” 

“Because you cannot afford to marry; you must not 
burden yourself with a wife.” 

“ Surely I know best. I can work — I do work. I would 
work night and day, with one hope before me of making 
my darling my wife. She loves me, she knows what 
trouble has come to us, she is willing to wait a few months 
longer, and then share my lot. It will be brighter in time 
everything will come right for us yet. I have no fear. ” 

“ I am not willing, her father is not willing — we see no 
use, no sense in the best and brightest years of her life 
being wasted in waiting for a marriage that, when it comes, 
will be the worst thing that could happen to her. W e are 
not willing ; and I tell you frankly that Violet sees mat- 
ters as we do. She wished me to say all this. ” 

“ Do you know what you are doing to me — what you 
are taking from me? Do you understand,” he cried 
hoarsely, “ that you are killing me ?” 

“ I am sorry, of course — it is very hard, I know — but such 
a life as you offer Violet would kill her.” 

“ I do not believe it !” he cried. “ You changed to me when 
my fortune changed. You were willing enough to give me 
my darling when you thought that I was the son of a rich 
man. I shall be rich again in time. I have seen the change 
in you ; you have given me cold looks for kind ones — you 
have been barely civil where you had been warmly cordial. 
I understand it — you love Mammon. Wealth, rank, luxury, 
are more to you than the heart of an honest man. But my 
darling is not like you, and I will receive the statement 
you have made from no lips but hers.” 

“ My daughter is not at home, and you will gain nothing 
from seeing her. ” 

“ But you cannot do as you please ; she is engaged to me 
— she is my promised wife — no man or woman living has 
the power to break such a bond. She could not break it 
herself. ” 

“You will find you are mistaken there,” said Mrs. Haye. 
And then Felix saw plainly that it was useless to say more 
to her — there was something of animosity in her tone. He 
left her, still holding the open letter in his hand. 

“ I am sorry for him, ” said Mrs. Haye, when describing 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAK. 


107 


the scene to her husband ; “ but what can be done ? There 
is one thing that I am really thankful for — he has not the 
least idea about Sir Owen. I am not nervous, but I do be- 
lieve that if he suspected what has happened he would kill 
him. ” 

As Felix left the house to return home, Jennie, a smart 
housemaid, who had often opened the door for him, and 
who thought him a noble-looking gentleman, ran after him. 

“Do forgive me, sir, ” she said ; “but you have always 
been so good to me, and I know all about it. I am so sorry 
for you, sir, that I cannot sleep for thinking of it. ” 

He tried to look indifferent, to smile, but he could not : 
his pride and self-control broke down at these pitying 
words. 

“Tell me what you know, Jennie,” he said. 

“ They have sent her away, sir, so that you should not 
see her and persuade her. They have kept it quite a secret 
where she is gone — no one knows — but I stole into her room 
and saw her trunk addressed to North Alton, and I know 
that Mrs. Haye has a cousin living at North Alton. She is 
gone there, sir, and nowhere else.” 

“Thank you, Jennie,” he said — “you have proved your- 
self a friend.” 

Jennie would not take the sovereign he offered her, and 
the sympathy he read in her face cheered him. 

“It will be all right when I see Miss Haye,” he said, 
“ They have over-persuaded her. She loves me — and I trust 
her.” 


CHAPTEE XXL 

TEMPORIZING. 

Felix sent his clerk to Yale House with a note saying that 
the family were not to be alarmed if he did not return that 
evening, as he had some important business to transact in a 
town some miles distant ; and Darcy Lonsdale, who was too 
ill then to feel an interest in anything professional, feebly 
blessed him as he listened. 

“ He works hard, ” said Kate, as she read the note ; then 
she sighed, thinking how different matters would have 
been had Felix loved Evelyn instead of Violet. The Hayes 
had stood aloof from them in their troubles ; they had ex- 
pressed but little sympathy, and Mrs. Lonsdale felt it 
keenly. Violet had not been to see them as Eve Lester had 


108 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAK 


been ; and Kate sighed again as she thought of the differ- 
ence between the two girls. 

North Alton was quite forty miles from Lilford. Felix • 
knew that the name of Mrs. Haye’s cousin was Miss West- 
ern. He had often heard Violet laugh about her mother’s 
cousin, who was an old maid. He said to himself that he 
w'ould go to North Alton by the night train; then he 
could see Violet in the morning, and be at home again 
in the evening. He little dreamed that people looked 
at him earnestly as he went to the station. His hand- 
some young face bore the impress of unutterable sor- 
roAv ; his eyes were dim and shadowed, with great 
dark circles round them ; his lips were pale and 
trembling. He had never thought of taking food — he had 
not even drank a glass of water to cool his parched lips. 
So ill, so sorrow-stricken, so unlike the handsome, gallant, 
noble Felix of the day before was he that Mrs. Lonsdale 
would hardly have known him had she seen him — he looked 
like the ghost of himself. 

When he stood before Violet she uttered a cry of sorrow 
and dismay. He had left the hotel to go to her aunt’s 
house, and met her just as, dressed for a walk, she was 
leaving the little front garden. One of Miss Western’s 
manias was early walking. He waited until Violet had 
gone some little distance down the road, and then he fol- 
lowed her. She gave a little cry, and stood silent and shame- 
stricken before him. He saw the sorrow, but not the shame, 
and the sorrow misled him. The dreadful livid pallor, the 
stony mask, fell from his face as a snow-wreath melts in 
the warm light of the sun. 

“My darling,” he cried, “I knew it was false — I knew 
that you had not said it ! Oh, thank Heaven, thank 
Heaven !” He leaned, pale and breathless, against the 
trunk of an elm tree. “I believed in you, my darling,” he 
said. “ I knew that you had not sanctioned it ; you could 
not — you hold my life in your hands. And yet why did 
you come here ? Why did you not write to me ? Speak to 
me, Violet, for by the heaven above me, I swear that I am 
going mad !” 

She was frightened, scared, at the wild eyes, the hoarse 
voice, the face so full of pain. She dared not have said to 
him — “ I have made my choice, Felix, between love and 
gold. I have chosen gold.” And, wretched as she was, 
though she had given him up, and never meant to marry 
him, her whole heart went out to him with greater warmth 
and greater love than it had ever felt before. She held out 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. 


109 


her hands to him, but started at the touch of his ; they 
burned her like fire. 

“You are making yourself ill, Felix,” she said. 

“Ill !” he repeated — and his laugh was more terrible to 
her than any words. “ How would you feel, Violet, had any 
one tried to tear the living, beating heart from your body ? 
Oh, my darling, tell me it is not true — tell me so, for 
Heaven’s sake ! Say that it is false — that they persuaded 
you, urged you, wrote without your knowledge ! Speak to 
me quickly, for I am going mad !” 

She was only a woman — at the very best a weak one — 
and she loved even after the weak fashion in which some 
women love. She could not endure the sight of his pain. 
She dared not tell him the truth ; she did what weak 
women so often do — she temporized. 

“I thought it best, Felix, to — give you some years free 
that you might work the better. I should not like to be 
a burden to you.” 

He drew a deep breath, like one relieved from an intoler- 
able load, from an unbearable pain. 

“ Is that all ? Oh, my darling, my generous, noble Violet, 
is that all ? I will not reproach you. But why have you 
given me this terrible fright ? I have been almost dead. I 
am fifty years older with these hours of terrible pain. Why 
did you not tell me, sweet, what you dreaded ? There is 
nothing to fear, Violet. I am so strong when I think of you 
that I could work by night and by day yet never feel 
fatigued. Such love as mine puts nerve into a man’s right 
arm. Oh, Violet sweet, you need not fear ! You shall 
have a home as beautiful as love can make it. You shall 
have a life so easy and so free from care that when it ends 
you will look back in wonder to see how it has passed. 
You shall never know pain or fatigue that I can save you 
from. You shall be served and waited upon and attended 
to unceasingly.” 

She made him no answer, but her hands touched his 
gently. 

“A burden !” he repeated. “You were afraid of being a 
burden to me ! Oh, Violet, life of my life, I ought to 
laugh at you ! Sweet burden that I would fain carry until 
death claims me ! Would to Heaven that the time were 
near when I could make the dear burden all mine !” 

Still she had not the courage to look at him and say, “ I 
love you, but I love riches better — I have chosen them in- 
stead of you.” She had not the courage to say it in that 
hour. She was frightened even to remember it.^ 


110 


WEAKER THAN A W03IAN 


“ You will never feel this fear again, Violet, will you 
he said, speaking more like himself than he had yet. “ It 
is so absurd — yet perhaps it is natural to a sensitive mind 
like yours. I am sane now, but I have been mad. Does 
my face alarm you? You need only laugh at it, sweet. I 
have forgotten to eat and to drink since your mother’s let- 
ter came. The sun was shining brightly and warmly, but 
it seemed to change all at once into a scorching fire-ball, 
and I went mad. Yet I did not lose my faith in you, Vio- 
let. I knew that you would never have spoken as your 
mother did, never have written as she did. I can forgive 
her ; it is only natural that she should think so much of 
you. No man could seem good enough for you. I am 
not good enough, but I love you so dearly that my great 
love stands in the place of great riches or great rank. ” 

Still she uttered no word — she dared not tell him the 
truth. 

“You are strangely silent, Violet,” he said. “Have I 
frightened you ?” 

“No,” she replied; “but you have startled me — you look 
so ill, Felix, and so unlike your own self. ” 

“No wonder, my darling,” he returned. “But I will not 
startle you again — I will remember how sensitive you are. ” 

She looked up at him with a smile — so sirens smile at the 
men they lure to destruction. 

“Felix,” she said, “you should not love me so much, 
dear — you know what I have always told you about idols 
of clay. ” 

“ I cannot help it ; my mission in life is to love you. ” 

“ I cannot ask you to come in and see me, ” she said. 
“Miss Western does not like gentlemen ; she never receives 
visitors. ” 

“My darling, I must hasten home,” he told her. “But 
you have not informed me why you came here, Violet.” 

“ Mamma wished me to come. I was not quite strong — I 
wanted a change.” 

“ And why did you not write to me, sweet ?” he continued. 

She paused one moment. Should she tell him or not ? 
No — she could not ; she loved him too much, and she was 
somewhat ashamed. She found an excuse ; there was no 
need for it to be a very good one to satisfy him. 

“ I knew you were true to me, Violet,” he said. “ I knew 
that it was your mother who had persuaded you — who had 
written that cruel letter without your sanction, perhaps 
your knowledge.” 

“I knew that she was going to write it,” Violet told him 


WEAKER THAN A W02IAN 


111 


— ^biit he was not afraid even then. No man is so completely 
blind as a man in love. 

“ Then you sanctioned it to try me — you sanctioned it to 
see how much I loved you? Listen, Violet sweet — I shall 
go home and I shall work as no man ever did. I shall begin 
at once to get your house ready for you — I shall wait no 
longer — and when it is ready, if your mother does not give 
her consent, I shall run away with you. Do you hear, my 
darling ; I shall do as Jock o’ Hazledean did.” 

She laughed faintly. Even then she had not the courage 
to say, “ The letter was all true, and I have given you up of 
my own accord. ” Even then she deceived him by her look 
and smile, if not by her words. 

“ I must not stay longer, ” he said. “ I shall go back home 
a different man. It is a terrible thing to know that one’s 
fate lies altogether in the hands of a single creature ; but, 
when they are such true, sweet hands as yours, Violet, 
there is nothing to fear. I will go back now to my work, 
which is sweetened by my love. Darling, say once more 
for me the words I love so dearly — ‘I belong to you, 
Felix. ’ ” 

She had always said them before while looking up at him 
with an arch, sweet smile, her beautiful eyes seeking his ; 
now the fair face drooped with a burning flush. She was 
nervous, weak, and guilty, but not guilty enough to repeat 
those false words. 

“ I am afraid Miss Western will And you here, Felix,” she 
said ; ‘‘ if she does, she will send for mamma. ” 

‘‘ Are you so closely guarded, my darling ?” he laughed. 
“ Ah, well, never mind. It will not be for long. I shall 
hasten home ; I shall prepare your house, and when it is 
ready I will take you if all the world should try to prevent 
me, for you are my own. I shall go home happy because I 
trust in you, and believe in you. I shall never believe that 
you have changed to me until you tell me so yourself. 
Good-by, my darling, love of my heart — good-by !” 

She watched him as he went down the high-road, and the 
impulse was strong upon her to call him back and say to 
him that she had given him up ; that the life of love and 
struggle that he offered her had no charm for her ; that she 
had weighed both, and had deliberately given the prefer- 
ence to wealth ; that he must go home and learn to forget 
her. 

She knew that she was in honor and in conscience bound 
to tell him this, but she did not. She watched him as he 
walked down the high-road, knowing that he went away 


112 


WEAKER THAK A WOMAK 


with a sense of hope in his heart that was hereafter to 
cause him only more deadly pain. The wrong that she did 
him in letting him leave her with the truth untold was as 
great as the wrong she had done him in breaking her 
plighted troth. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

“am I NOT KIND?” 

Felix was at rest for a short time. When he grew 
calmer and thought more carefully about Mrs. Haye’s 
letter, he ceased to feel any great surprise. Mrs. Haye was, 
he knew, a worldly woman, and nothing was more natural 
under the circumstances than that she should cease to care 
for her daughter’s marriage with him. But, with the hope 
that had sprung up afresh in his heart, it seemed to him 
that his strength and his energy had no bounds, that he 
could work as no one had ever worked. Violet was the 
mainspring of it all. If he lost her, he knew that he should 
never care to do another hour’s labor. He began afresh 
with such zeal, such energy, such industry and perse- 
verance, that every one wondered at him. He let them 
wonder, he knew why he was working. 

And, while he was counting the hours, trying to turn 
each one into gold. Sir Owen was busy, too. He had come 
to a perfect understanding with Mr. and Mrs. Haye. He 
told them that he would cheerfully give half his fortune to 
make Violet his wife. He had asked them to help him, 
and had promised them their reward. Mrs. Haye went on 
a short visit to her cousin, and was dismayed to hear from 
Violet that Felix had been to see her, that he had gone 
back home with the hope that all was right. 

“Why did you not tell him the truth, Violet?” asked 
Mrs. Haye, sternly. “ It was cruel to deceive him further. ” 

“ I could not, mamma, ” she replied, her eyes filling with 
tears ; “he looked so ill and unhappy, I could not. ” 

“It was cruel kindness, Violet,” declared Mrs. Haye, but 
she said no more, knowing that in her daughter’s place, 
she should have done the same thing. 

It was arranged that Sir Owen should go down to North 
Alton and renew his offer of marriage. If Violet consented, 
the marriage must take place, Mrs. Haye said, in London. 

If they were married at Lilford, Felix Lonsdale was quite 
capable of going into the church, and taking the bride 
from the altar. She was sorry for him, and she felt that 


WEAKER TEAK A WOMAN, 


113 


it would be needless cruelty for the marriage to be cele- 
brated just before his eyes. ‘‘It will be hard enough,” she 
said to herself, “ without that. ” 

So all was arranged as she desired. Sir Owen went to 
North Alton, and the beautiful, fickle girl who had loved 
Felix Lonsdale and given him up, plighted her troth to a 
man she did not love, plighted it because he was rich. He 
had taken with him a magnificent diamond ring, which 
was to be the pledge of their engagement ; and, as he 
placed it on her finger, he looked wistfully into her face. 

“You care for me a little, Violet, do you not? You are a 
cold bride, after all, for a man to win. If I thought you 
really liked that lawyer better than me, I would not ask 
you to marry me, upon my soul I would not. I give you 
all I have — my love and my fortune. Surely you have a 
smile and a kind word to give me in return !” 

No wonder that he spoke in that strain to her. She was 
too weak ever to be a great sinner, too weak to sin and for- 
get her sin. It looked her in the face now as she stood 
with the light of the baronet’s eyes upon her, the dia- 
mond ring on her finger, contrasting the wooing of her 
two lovers, and knowing full well which was best. 

“ Am I not kind ?” she asked, with an exquisite smile ; a 
smile that pleased him so that he clasped her in his arms 
and kissed her. 

When he did so she wished herself dead. She said to 
herself that she could not go through with this new engage- 
ment ; that she must let the wealth, the rank, the title 
pass ; that she must give all up and go back to Felix. She 
loved Felix, and she did not, nor would she ever love Sir 
Owen. 

She had a few minutes for these reflections, and then he 
was telling her of the future, of all she would enjoy, how 
people would envy her, and what a position she would take 
in the great, bright world. She listened, for the words 
were pleasant, and forgot her pain. 

To Felix Lonsdale there came strange rumors, but he 
would not believe any of them. He had implicit faith in 
Violet, implicit trust. Until she told him that she was false 
to him, he should not believe one word to that effect. 

One morning he received two letters. One was from Vio- 
let, and said : 

“ Try to forget me, Felix. I have never been worthy of the great 
love yon have given me ; I am not worthy of it now. Try to forget 
jnej for I have been thinking it all over, and I can see that our en- 


WIJAKEB THAN A W03IAN 


lU 

gagement must be broken. You said you would believe it when I 
wrote it. Believe it now, for I say that it must end. In the years to 
come we may be friends— never anything more. Violet.” 

He read it with unbelief. Some one had compelled her 
to write it ; it had not been done of her own free will ; of 
that he was sure. 

The second note was from his humble, faithful friend, . 
Jennie, the pretty housemaid, written with many apologies 
for the liberty she had taken ; but she wanted him to 
know that her young lady would be at home at the Limes 
that night, on her road from North Alton to London. Her 
master and mistress were going to London with Miss Vio- 
let, she added, and she was afraid there was mischief on 
foot. It wasS her own private opinion that they had per- 
suaded Miss Violet to marry some one else. If he went to 
the Limes late that evening, she would keep the entrance 
gate and the garden gate open, and she would manage 
that he should see Miss Haye. 

He read both letters through, but he did not lose his 
reason this time. A calm, settled despair came to him, 
against which he struggled blindly ; he would not believe 
that his love was false even though he read it in her own 
handwriting. He would not believe it unless she told him 
so herself ; anything was more credible than that she 
should have deceived him and broken her word. When he 
believed that, he said to himself, the heavens would fall. 
Whom could she be going to marry ? How absurd ! How 
ridiculous ! He had never heard her name mentioned ex- 
cept with his own. He knew that she had many admirers, 
but who would dare to speak of marriage to her when it 
was well known that she was engaged to him ? He could 
well understand that it was Jennie’s own sensitive care and 
anxiety for him that had led her to make the mistake. 

He would go, however, and see Violet, and hear from 
her what it all meant ; but not at night ; certainly not when 
it was late, as though he were afraid of being seen. He 
was her betrothed lover, she was his promised wife. He 
would go up to the front door in the broad daylight, and 
ask to see the girl who had promised to marry him. Sud- 
denly he remembered that, if he did so, he must betray 
Jennie. Violet’s return had been kept a secret, and the 
family would at once suspect her of having betrayed it. 
Another thing had occurred to him ; if they did not wish 
him to see Violet, and he went in a straightforward, honest 
way to ask for her, they might, and most probably would. 


WEAKEB THAN A WOMAN 


115 


refuse to let him see her ; they would invent some untruth 
or other, and, if she were really going to London, he should 
miss the only chance he had of seeing her. It was humili- 
ating and mortifying, but he must act as Jennie proposed ; 
he had no other resource. He would go that night and see 
Violet. 

Again he wrote home to say that he should not return 
until late ; and Kate’s kind eyes filled with tears as she 
read, thinking how hard he was working, aiid her heart 
misgave her that it was all for nothing ; that the prize he 
was laboring and waiting and hoping for would never be 
his. She had heard of Violet’s absence from home, and 
her quick mother- wit had soon told her that of that absence 
Felix knew little or nothing. She drew a bad augury from 
that. It boded mischief to him, she felt sure. She was 
compelled to content , herself with the thought that she 
would sit up for him and attend to his comfort when he did 
return. 

Felix went. He hated himself for going at night, when 
no one could see him ; for seeking a clandestine interview 
with his promised wife. The night was dark, and the wind 
blew cold. It was after nine when he reached the entrance 
gate. He found it open, and Jennie waiting for him inside. 

“You will not be angry with me, sir, will you ?” she said. 
“But it seemed to be almost as though some one were 
being killed. I am quite sure they have persuaded my 
young lady to marry some one else. I heard her crying 
bitterly this evening.” 

But Felix could not discuss the Subject nearest to his 
heart even with this faithful, humble friend. 

“Do you think I shall be able to see Miss Haye, Jennie?” 
he asked. 

“Yes, sir. I will give her a message that in a few min- 
utes will bring her down here to you. She will not be 
angry with me.” And in a few minutes she had kept her 
word. 


CHAPTEE XXIII. 

“the SUBSTANCE FOR THE SHADOW.” 

Jennie delivered her message, and Violet quickly ap- 
peared at the gate of the Limes. 

Before Felix had spoken to her, before he had touched 
her hand, the moment he had looked into her fair, droop- 
ing face he knew that she was guilty. Something had gone 


116 


weakeh than a woman 


from it that he was never to see again ; something was 
there which was never more to leave it. She gazed at 
him, and gave a little low cry, then standing before him 
she buried her face in her hands. He went up to her 
slowly ; he took her hands from her face and raised it to 
his o wn. Then the lovely eyes closed ; they could not meet 
his. He dropped her hands. 

“You are guilty, Violet. Great Heaven, you have be- 
trayed me. You meant what you wrote to-day.” 

There was something so quiet in his despair that Violet 
imagined his tone to be one almost of indifference, and the 
thought gave her courage ; if he had shown any sign of 
great pain she would have been frightened. 

“I could not help it,” she replied. “Do not be angry with 
me, Felix. I know it is the poorest of excuses, but it is 
true ; I cannot help it. It was of no use going on in the 
same dreary way. It must have come to an end sometime. ” 

“Let me quite understand,” he said; “let me make no 
mistake this -time. What have you done, Violet?” 

“ I have not done anything ; but it seems better that we 
should part. No good can come of our engagement ; it was 
a mistake.” 

He looked sadly at her. 

“ You say so, my darling, to whom I have given the best 
love of my heart ; my life itself ; you say that ?” 

“ It is true, Felix, ” she replied ; “ and I am very sorry. 
I shall never like any one as I have liked you, and you will 
never really care about any other woman as you have 
cared for me ; I know it, but it cannot be helped.” 

He held up his head with such dignity, such passion of 
despair, that she was silenced. The false, light words, the 
false, light excuses, all withered into nothing, and she 
knew that she stood in the presence of a mighty sorrow, a 
mighty passion. All her little affectations, her miserable 
apologies, became as nothing before Felix’s heart-rending 
distress and hopelessness. 

“ Hush !” he said. “ Do not add to your sin by another 
false word ; do not mock me by excuses which you would 
be ashamed to make to a servant whom you were dismissing 
unjustly. Tell me, is it true ?” 

“ Is what true, Felix ? Do not look so angrily at me — • 
you frighten me. Is what true ?” 

As she spoke she shrank back from him until she stood 
near the lilac bushes, the branches of which were bare now 
of flowers. 

“Not there,” he cried, “for Heaven’s sake, not there. 


WEAKER TEAK A WOMAN. 


117 


You stood there, a few short weeks since, with your arm 
around my neck, with your hand in mine, swearing to be 
true to me, saying that you belonged to me ; that you 
loved me. Come away from there if you would not drive 
me mad. ” 

She returned to him, and they walked some little distance 
from the lilac bushes. 

“Violet,” he said, “I can hardly believe that our meeting 
thus is real. I must be in a dream, from which I shall 
soon awake, and laugh to think that I believed in what 
was happening. It cannot be that I, Felix Lonsdale, have 
had to steal under the cover of darkness to meet you, my 
promised wife, and that you who have loved me, who have 
kissed me, who have looked on me as your future hus- 
band, are here to tell me that you are false to me. Stand 
still, so, and let me look into the face wherein I thought 
all happiness lay. Now tell me, is it — true ?” 

He held her before him ; she felt that his eyes were fixed 
on her ; they seemed to burn to her very heart. 

“You put things so strangely,” she said. “I hardly 
know what answer to make to you. You are not fair to 
me. I have found that my engagement to marry you is 
not wise for either of us, and I tell you so. I see no hein- 
ous crime in that:” 

“You promised to love me, and me alone, until death ; 
do you mean to keep that promise ? No prevarication ; 
speak truthfully, ‘Yes’ or ‘No do you mean to keep that 
promise? Speak, Violet.” 

But he had to bend low to hear her answer ; it was whis- 
pered “No.” 

“You promised to marry me, to be my wife, to spend 
your life with me and brighten mine ; do you mean to keep 
that promise? Speak — ‘Yes’ or ‘No.’ ” 

“No,” she whispered again. 

“Will you tell me why you refuse, Violet?” 

Again she took courage at the seeming indifference of his 
tone. 

“I cannot, Felix,” she said ; “you will find many an- 
other more suited to be your wife than I am. ” 

“ I do not want any one but you who have promised. 
What is there in the life I offer you that you dislike ?” 

“ All of it, except — that I should like to be with you. I 
dislike the poverty, the obscurity, the lack of rank and 
position. I am not so noble as you have always thought 
me, Felix. I love wealth and luxury, I love magnificence. 
I should never be content in the little home that you would 


118 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


give me ; there would not be enough to fill my life. I felt 
that when I stood in it. I asked myself how I should live 
through the long years there. I should be miserable, and 
you would be miserable, too. ” 

He looked at her in amazement. 

“Would not love content you?” he asked. 

The golden head drooped before him. She was ashamed 
of the words she had to speak. 

“No, it would not content me,” she replied. “You deem 
me better, wiser, and nobler than I am. There are hun- 
dreds of good and noble women in the world who ask only 
for love and are content with it. Seek one of those, Felix 
— they are worthier than I. ” 

“ Hush !” he cried again. “ Do not say such words ; many 
a man has taken the life of the woman he loved for less 
than that. ” 

She shrank back from him with a pale, scared face ; he 
smiled one of the saddest and bitterest smiles she had ever 
seen on a human face. 

“Have no fear, Violet; I spoke without reflection. You 
cannot think I meant to threaten you ; you, every hair of 
whose head is dearer to me than my own life. Love would 
not content you, Violet?” 

“ No. I may as well tell you the truth. I was ignorant 
of many things when I promised to marry you. I did not 
know what riches meant, what luxury or magnificence 
was, what luxury or pleasure comprised.” 

“ And you know now ?” he said when she paused. 

“Yes, I know now, and I cannot do without them. I 
would rather have had love with them ; as I cannot have 
both, I choose them. You cannot call it a great sin, Felix, 
to change my mind when I did not know what my mind 
was. ” 

“Violet,” he said, gravely, “do you know what even the 
world says of a woman who deliberately jilts her lover?” 

“No,” she replied. 

“ It says some hard things. It says that the woman who 
could be false to her plighted lover, would be false to her 
husband and to Heaven ; it says that such a woman brands 
herself ‘ liar’ before the whole world, that she loses the 
claim to rank with women of honor. That is what the world 
says. Do you know what a higher nower than the world 
says ?” 

“No,” she answered him again. 

“ That lying lips are an abomination. Whose lips lie so 
cruelly, so falsely, as the lips of the woman who breaks 


WEAKEB THAN A WOMAN 


119 


her plighted word and oath of fidelity, who lures a man on 
to love her with sweet words and sweet smiles, who prom- 
ises to love him forever, and then turns round and says she 
loves wealth better? Where will you get this coveted 
wealth, Violet, even if you persist in refusing to keep your 
word to me ?” 

But she did not answer him ; there were limits to what 
she dare do, and she dared not tell him that she was going 
to marry Sir Owen. 

“You are very hard on me, Felix,” she said. 

“ Nay, I am but telling you the truth, the solemn, unvar- 
nished truth. If you do give me up and marry even a title, 
never dream that you will have the respect or the esteem 
of your fellow-creatures ; you would always be spoken of 
as the woman who jilted her true lover to marry a 
wealthier man.” 

But, in the pride of her youth and her beauty, in the pride 
of the future that seemed so brilliant to her, she would not 
believe that ; she did not believe it, although she did not 
say so to him. 

“Listen again, Violet,” he continued, in the same grave, 
dispassionate voice. “You seem to think it a mere matter 
of changing your mind. Look at it now from my point of 
view ; forget yourself for one minute and think of me. I 
have loved you all my life ; ah, my darling, you will never 
know how dearly or how well ! You are my life itself ; 
my heart and love and soul are centered in you, my hopes 
have grown round you. I have always thought of you as 
my wife ; as the chosen companion of my life. Ah, my 
darling, if I stood here until the sun shone again I could 
not tell you how I love you. I have never thought of life 
without you, never. I could as soon live without air, with- 
out food, as without my hope of you, my love of you ; my 
life will end when you leave me. Think of my claim, Vio- 
let. You promised me, and I have lived on your proniise ; 
what is to become of me if you change your mind ?” 

“You will forget me soon, Felix,” she said, gently. 

“ Yes, dear, when the sun ceases to shine, when the tide 
neither ebbs nor fiows, when fiowers cease to bloom and 
birds to sing ; but not until then, Violet, not until then, 
my sweet. ” His voice took all its old sweetness, his face 
its old light, as he drew nearer to her. “ My darling, ” he 
said, “ it was not your real self that was speaking. Your 
parents have persuaded you. They have told you that I 
cannot give you a home suited for you ; but I can, my darl- 
ing, I can. Only trust me. It is a strange dream this ; a 


120 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


dream that will soon pass. They have persuaded you to 
say what you did. It was not my Violet who spoke, from 
whose heart those worldly thoughts and worldly sayings 
came. They have persuaded you, and talked to you, until 
your thoughts and ideas are all confused. Violet, sweet, 
forget all they have advised, forget this wretched inter- 
view. You cannot mean what you have said. Nothing so 
beautiful could be so false ; nothing so fair could be so 
cruel. Let us forget it, my darling. I forgive it all, for I 
know it has been taught to you. Violet, let us bury the 
past wretched weeks. Let us begin again ; you with re- 
newed faith in me, I with my old love and old faith in you 
— faith and love which have never varied, and never will. 
Will you listen to me, Violet?” 

“I cannot,” she cried, and he felt the shudder that passed 
over her frame. “ I cannot, Felix. ” 

“Have you ceased to love me, Violet?” he asked, quietly. 

“No !” she cried. “Oh, do forgive me, Felix ! I wish I 
had !” 

“You still care for me?” he asked. 

It seemed some relief to her to cry out that she did care 
for him ; to lay her golden head on his breast, and moan 
out that she wished she were dead. His whole face bright- 
ened and changed as he heard the words. 

“You still care for me, my darling,” he said, gently; 
“why, then, Violet, matters must come right in the end. 
This dark hour will pass, and happiness will dawn upon 
us.” 

So she lay sobbing near the noble heart she was break- 
ing, while the wind wailed round them with a strange, 
mournful sound. 

Violet was the first to speak. She raised her lovely face 
all wet with tears. 

“You do not understand, Felix,” she said, quietly. “I do 
love you ; that makes my cowardice all the greater. I love 
you, but I can never marry you, because you cannot give 
me that which my soul loves best. ” 

“ But what if I do give it to you, Violet ; what then?” he 
asked. 

“You cannot ; you must work all your life even for the 
moderate means that you will have. Do not talk any 
more about it. Felix, my resolution is fixed as are the 
stars in heaven ; nothing can alter it, nothing can change 
it. We have made a mistake.” 

And for the first time during that interview it dawned 
across him that it was no girlish caprice he had to contend 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN, 


121 


with, no idle whim, but the settled resolve of a woman in 
whose heart love took a secondary place. 

Looking at her exquisite face he asked himself what if 
all this time he had been mistaken, if he had given this 
beautiful woman credit for a noble soul and a tender heart, 
while she had neither ? Such things had been ; men had 
made even greater mistakes than that. What if she were 
worldly and selfish, false and pleasure-loving, even to the 
core of her heart ? Could any one so fair be so false ? Could 
an ignoble soul live in a beautiful body? He looked at 
her ; her most fair and lovely face was all stained with 
tears. Was such a contradiction possible as that she should 
willfully give him up, yet weep because she had lost him, 
that she should separate herself from him, refuse to 
marry him, yet weep because he was lost to her ? He did 
not turn, as some men would have done, and ask himself, 
“ Who shall understand a woman ?” He tried patiently to 
understand her. 

‘Wiolet, you puzzle me,” he said. “Let me understand ; 
you love me, you say ?” 

She sobbed out that she could not help it. 

“You love me, yet you willfully break your promise to 
marry me. You send me away of your own free will, not 
because you do not love me, but because I have not money 
enough. Is that it, Violet?” 

She did not deny it ; it was the exact truth. He con- 
tinued : 

“You love me, and I am what you call poor. You send 
me away, and a richer man comes. You will marry him 
because he is rich ; you will marry him for his money 
while you love me. Violet Haye, do you know what the 
law of God calls such a sin ? Do you think your weak 
subterfuge of calling this crime of yours ‘ changing your 
mind’ will hold good when you are judged for your ac- 
tions, and the just award is given to you ? What is murder, 
Violet Haye? If that white hand of yours had thrust a 
sword into my heart, you would have slain me no less 
cruelly than you have killed me now. ” 

He put her from him with a bitter cry — a cry that 
haunted her for long years. 

“You have slain the best part of me ; you have slain my 
love, my hope ; and before the great Judge I shall accuse 
you of my murder, Violet Haye. I shall ask for the hope, 
the love, the life you have taken. I shall point to you, and 
I shall cry out that you slew me because you loved the 


m WEAKER THAN A WOHAN. 

gold I could not give you. Before Heaven, you have slain 
me !” 

His despair frightened her ; she drew nearer to him, and 
tried to soothe him, but he would not let her hands touch 
him. 

“You are not worth a man’s thought, you are not worth 
a man’s love,” he cried, “you who have slain the truest of 
love. Do not touch me. It is such women as you who 
lure men on to death, who take a man’s heart and crush it 
like a rose-leaf. No, do not touch me, Violet for she 
clung to him, weeping and crying out that he was too hard 
upon her, too hard. 

“ No, I am not hard,” he said. “ To my mind there is but 
one kind of love, and the soul of it is truth. I do not under- 
stand such love as yours. Oh, Violet, once more let me 
appeal to you and warn you. Dear, you are all wrong, all 
wrong, and you will find it out too late. Believe me. 
Heaven has so made woman that to her the chief good is 
love ; to her love is religion and life. Are you of a differ- 
ent nature that you can dispense with love ?” 

“ It would not make me happy, ” she answered, in a low 
voice. 

So you think, dear, in the pride of youth and beauty ; 
but, believe me, though you may win the wealth you 
prize so highly, the time will come when you will be ready 
to surrender it all for love, and you shall not find it. Ke- 
member my words ; you will long for the love you now 
throw away ; you will live to curse your own folly in giving 
up the substance for the shadow.” 

Her tears fell while she listened silently to words that 
haunted her forever. His voice softened as he went on. 

“You will not be young and beautiful always, Violet. 
The time must come when your hair will have lost its 
golden sheen and your eyes their light. What will wealth 
do for you then ? If sickness comes to you, will all the 
wealth of the whole world purchase for you the tender 
touch of a loving hand or the tender words of a loving 
voice? You will live, my darling, through long hours of 
pain thinking of me, longing for me, wondering how you 
could have been so mad as to send me from you, crying 
out my name, until you remember that to love me is a 
crime, and that in my place you have the wealth you have 
chosen. Think of the long days when you will miss me. 
Ah, Violet, mind, lest in breaking my heart you break your 
own. I warn you that you cannot live without love ; heed 
my warning before it is too late.” 


. WEAKER THAN A WOATAN 


123 


She made him no answer. He continued : 

I can see farther into the future than you, Violet, and 
with clearer eyes. I prophesy to you that the time will 
come when you will repent of what you are doing now, and 
be willing to give your whole soul to undo it. Will you 
heed my warning ?” 

Her heart went out to him in love and pity ; but there 
was the picture before her of Garswood — the thought of 
the diamonds — of herself as Lady Chevenix. 

“I cannot,” she said. 

He stood quite still for a few moments. 

“You forsake me, then, for a richer lover — you give up 
my love for gold ? Say, in plain words, that you do so ; do 
not let there be a chance of mistake, Violet — do not let any 
false halo linger round your memory in the years to come. 
You give me up because I have not money enough ?” 

“Yes,” she replied, but the word came slowly and with 
great reluctance. 

“ I shall not regret you, Violet — you are not worth re- 
gret, ” he said, but she cried out : 

“ Do not be so hard, Felix ; I — I am weaker than a 
woman. ” 

“You are, indeed,” he said, gravely. “Some women’s 
weakness is half divine ; yours is — well, I will give it no 
name ; I know none that describes anything one half so 
false. ” 

“You are very hard, Felix.” 

He laughed aloud, and pleasure-loving Violet Haye 
wished never to hear such another laugh. 

“I have no place here now, Violet. I will say farewell. 
My dear love, my lost love, farewell. Lay your sweet, 
cruel hands in mine once again — let me look into your 
sweet, false face once more. Farewell, little white hands — 
you will caress me and stab me no more. Farewell, sweet 
eyes — you will look no more into mine. Farewell, golden 
head — you will never lie on my breast again — never again. 
Farewell ! ‘ Beauty such as woman never wore, ’ heart 

most false, love most cruel — farewell !” 

His voice died away in a low wail, and the next moment 
he was gone, and she stood there, weeping for that which 
she could never recall. 

“ How cruel fate is !” she said. “ I love Felix. Why 
could Felix not have Sir Owen’s fortune? I almost wish 
that I had never seen Sir Owen. I did not think that I 
should care about Felix so much. ” 

It was something new to the spoiled, petted beauty to 


124 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. 


feel pain — to weep without being comforted. She was un- 
just enough to think that Felix should have staid to com- 
fort her — should not have left her so wretched. 

Then she realized that her faithful lover, so tender, so 
true, and so brave, had passed out of her life, and would 
be nothing to her for all time. She was impatient with her 
own misery — her own sorrow. 

“If the time could come over again,” she said, “I would 
not do it ; I would marry Felix, let him be poor as he 
might. ” 

But it was done ; it was all over. She thought to herself 
that with such a lover she had managed well, for what he 
had said was true — many a man had taken a woman’s life 
for less provocation. Now she was free from all ties — free 
to marry Sir Owen — to enjoy wealth, rank, fashion, dia- 
monds, and everything else — free to become what Sir Owen 
promised her — the queen of the county, the queen of fash- 
ion — free to trample on Lady Eolfe and those who had 
sneered at her — free to go her own way. As for what Felix 
had said about her being branded, what nonsense it was ! 
Girls did the same thing every day, and were thought none 
the worse for so doing. True, she remembered Mrs. Bar- 
don, who had been engaged for three or four years to a 
young officer in the army, and who had jilted him (it was 
such an ugly word that) — jilted him to marry a wealthy 
landowner. Her husband afterward turned out to be one 
of the most miserly and disagreeable men living. Then, 
when she complained, people said it served her right ; she 
should not have broken a good man’s heart. 

“But my story,” thought Violet Haye, “is quite different 
from that. I look more like one born to be Lady Chevenix 
than born to be the wife of a poor, struggling lawyer. ” 

She was not very angry with pretty Jennie, but she 
warned her that her interview with Mr. Lonsdale must be 
kept a secret. She believed that Felix had bribed the girl 
— not that the girl had told Felix. 

It was just as well, she thought, that the interview had 
taken place ; there must have been a scene some time or 
other. Now the matter was all settled, and she could go to 
London with a mind free from all anxiety. The grandeur 
awaiting her there must surely comfort her, for her heart 
ached for Felix — his burning, stinging words haunted her. 

Who should dare say that on that white brow of hers was 
branded “ liar ?” Felix would be dreadfully distressed when 
he heard of her marriage. She knew that he would feel it 
most keenly ; but then after a time he would forget it — ^no 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. 


125 


one would bear animosity against the young and charming 
Lady Chevenix. When she came back again she and Felix 
would be friends. She would make overtures of friendship 
to him, and he would not decline them ; he had always 
been so fond of her — poor Felix ! 

So she went away the next day to London, trying to 
forget the past and to think of the future. She did not 
care to remember that morning found her pillow wet 
with tears, for she had been dreaming of Felix. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE WORLD A BATTLE-FIELD. 

Felix Lonsdale had tried his best ; he had done hard bat- 
tle with his sorrow — the sorrow that had come to him 
while the summer moon was shining and the corn stood 
ripe in the fields. He had done hard, fierce, terrible battle 
with it. It stood there ^ver by his side ; no one had de- 
tected it yet — its presence was a secret from every one ex*- 
cept himself. It stood by the table, and made the sight of 
all food loathsome to him; it stood by his books and 
papers, and its dark shadows made them all illegible to 
him — he read no words save these — that Violet was false to 
him ; it stood by his pillow and would not let him sleep ; 
it came between him and the brightness of earth — between 
him and the mercy of Heaven. He was stunned, dazed, 
and bewildered by it ; still he did brave battle with it. He 
looked at the invalid father, at the kindly mother, at the 
“ army” of little ones ; there was work to do, and he must 
do it. The home must be kept up, business attended to ; 
money must be made, the home must not be neglected. 
Indulgence in sorrow was not a luxury for him. 

He hardened his heart ; he said that there was neither 
mercy nor kindness nor love in the world. He could not 
see the kindly look in Katie’s tender eyes ; he would not 
kiss the children’s faces ; when the Sabbath bells chimed 
he went miles away. Fate had been cruel to him, he 
would harden himself ; he would be proud and stern, cold 
. and unbending — he would give back what he had received. 
So hour by hour and day by day he hardened his heart, 
hardened his nature, and only Heaven knew what he 
suffered. 

Within a week after his farewell to Violet the handsome 
face had grown so haggard that it was hardly recognizable ; 
the kindly eyes had a wild, weird expression, as though he 


126 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. 


were always suffering mortal pain — the ring had gone 
from his voice, from his laugh ; he was an altered man. 
How he worked ! He said to himself that work was the 
only thing which could keep him from going mad. 

But it told upon him — no food, no sleep, no rest would 
he take — this constant warfare that kept every nerve 
strained. It seemed to him that if he once gave way, even 
if only for a moment — if he opened his heart to the dread- 
ful sorrow waiting to be admitted — if he closed his eyes in 
rest — he must die. Colder and harder and prouder he 
grew, shutting himself and his sorrow in icy reserve ; and 
at last Kate grew so miserable about him that she sent for 
Evelyn. 

“ I must talk to you. Eve, ” she said, “ or my heart will 
break. I do not like to distress my husband — he is ill 
enough ; and, if Felix goes on like this much longer, he will 
have a terrible illness, or he will die. What is the matter 
with him. Eve ? He does not eat or sleep ; he looks like a 
man who has been stunned ; he grows so hard and cold that 
I am almost afraid of him. He does not open his heart to 
me, he avoids me, he does not even look at me — he who 
used to love me so well. What is the matter with him, 
Eve ?” 

Eve looked very pale and sad, her sweet face was 
clouded ; but Kate, in her distress, did not notice it. 

“ I can tell you what is the matter, ” she replied. “ I 
heard it this afternoon. Violet Haye has gone to London 
to be married.” 

Kate cried out that it was impossible — that it could not 
be — Violet Haye was betrothed to Felix. 

“It is so,” said Eve — “Aunt Jane told me about it this 
afternoon ; and, fearing you would be in great trouble, I 
came to you at once. Violet broke off her engagement with 
Felix some short time since, and she is gone to London to 
be married. ” 

“ Married to whom ?” cried Kate, in hot anger for her 
boy’s sake. 

“ I do not know — she has so many admirers, but I believe 
it is some very rich man. Mrs. Haye is almost wild with 
excitement about it. She told my aunt the day before they 
started.” And then, remembering how Felix loved Violet, 
they both wept together. 

“ I understand it all now, ” said Kate. “ My poor boy has 
hidden it from us lest we should know what he suffered- 
Evelyn, does Heaven punish treachery ?” 

“I am afraid so,” she replied, gently. “You say that 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 127 

Felix has grown hard and cold. Tell me where he is, that 
I may go and see him.” 

“ He is at the office, ” replied Mrs. Lonsdale. “Do go to 
him. Eve. He was always fond of you — he always trusted 
you. Go and try if you can comfort him. ” 

A slight shadow of pain came over the sweet face — it 
passed in a minute. 

“Yes,” she said, thoughtfully, “he always trusted me. I 
will go and see what I can do for him. ” 

Eve walked gently through the warm, sunlit streets. 
Many looked after her as she went on her mission of mercy 
— after the tall, graceful figure in the simple muslin dress, 
the plain, pretty hat with the broad brim. On her fair, 
sweet face, as she walked along, thinking what she should 
say to him, a beautiful light shone. 

She went into the office without any announcement — she 
had done so since she was a child. Only Felix sat 
there, his pale, haggard face bent over his papers, a shadow 
like death in his eyes. He looked up in wonder at his 
visitor. Eve, with her sweet face, and the strange light 
upon it, looked like an angel come to minister to him. 

“Evelyn,” he said, “you are an unexpected visitor.” 

She went round to him, and stood by the side of his 
chair. 

“ Felix, ” she said, “ I know what has happened, and I 
am come to comfort you. ” 

“ Comfort ! ‘ Comfort scorned of devils, ’ the poet sings. 
Eve,” he laughed, “what comfort can you give me?” 

She took the papers from his hands, and was startled on 
that warm day to find his fingers as cold as death. She 
held them in her own — her sweet eyes filled with tears. 

“ Felix, you must ' not harden your heart against me, 
dear. You must not keep me outside it. We have been 
such true friends — such dear friends always. Do not be 
hard and cold and proud with me, dear friend. ” 

“I will not. Eve,” he returned, gently. “Heaven bless 
you. Eve !” j 

“Listen to me a little while, Felix,” she said, and her; 
voice stole like a strain of sweetest music over his tired 
senses. “ No man can know a greater sorrow than this 
sorrow of yours. The one you loved and trusted has de- 
ceived you. Violet has been false to you.” 

He shrank back with a cry at the sound of the words. 
She only clasped his hands the more tightly. 

“Never mind the pain, Felix,” she said. “It is right 
that you should accustom yourself to hear the words, and 


128 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


not shrink from them. Violet has proved false to you. I 
know how you love her, and I know that the words cut 
like a sharp knife.” 

“It is true, Eve,” he told her, in a low voice — “it is quite 
true. She has forsaken me. ” 

“ It is a terrible sorrow, ” she said — “ no greater sorrow 
could have befallen you ; but, Felix, do not let it harden 
you. People treat the visitation of sorrow so unwisely. 
Some, when sorrow falls to their lot, harden their hearts, 
shut all tenderness, all love, all affection away from them. 
They change their whole natures. To such persons God’s 
dealing comes as a curse, not a blessing. ” 

“Such sorrow as mine must be a curse,” he returned, 
sadly. 

“By no means. You know the old saying, ‘Sorrows are 
but blessings in disguise. ’ Who can say in after years 
what guise their sorrow may wear ?” 

“But I loved her so dearly, Eve ; and I have lost her,” she 
said. 

“ I know that you loved her ; but, Felix, has there never 
been a mistaken love ? Have you never heard of a man 
idealizing a woman, and worshiping in her virtues that 
she never possessed ? The very fact that Violet could prove 
false to you proves also that she was unworthy of your 
love, that you thought her possessed of qualities quite 
foreign to her, and that she is not worth all this passion of 
regret. ” 

“I loved her,” was all he answered. 

“ I know, dear friend — I know” — and Evelyn’s voice was 
sweet as the cooing of a dove — “ and it is a terrible grief to 
you. Felix, because we are such dear and true friends, I 
am come to talk to you about this sorrow. There are 
three ways in which men must sorrow. The weaker part 
of them fly at once to drink, to dissipation, to a reckless 
kind of despair ; they have no nobility. You are above 
that. Others harden themselves ; they shut out all love 
and sympathy from their hearts ; they grow cold and 
proud, so that no kindly influence reaches them. Others 
— and, dear friend, believe me, these are the noble ones — 
accept sorrow as a part of the discipline of life, as a gift 
sent from Heaven ; and, while they accept it with hu- 
mility, they bear it with dignity. It makes them nobler, 
grander, and better. It is an education that prepares them 
for heaven. Which of the three classes will you join, 
Felix?” 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


129 


“The last, if I can, Eve,” he said, slowly. He looked 
at the light on her fair face. 

“Believe me,” she went on, earnestly, “we shall not 
know, until we come to die, what great sorrows do for 
us, and then we shall thank Heaven for them. There is 
something weak and cowardly in the idea of being beaten 
by any trouble. This world is a battle-field, and we must 
fight nobly; the temptation to yield weakly to a great 
grief is one of the hardest that comes to us. It would be 
so much easier for you, Felix, to lie down and die than to 
do battle day by day, and so have to live your sorrow 
down.” 

“Yes, it would. Eve,” he replied. 

“A soul that has never suffered is but a puny soul,” she 
said ; “ the strong and noble soul is the one that passes 
through the furnace of fire and comes out pure gold — not 
base metal or gold with an alloy — but pure, refined, true 
gold. The mystery is why men and women must all suffer ; 
but that we shall never fathom ; we only know that ‘ God 
sends pain — even to his best beloved He sends pain. ’ ” 

Something in the brave face and the brave, patient voice 
touched him. He looked up at her suddenly. 

“ Surely, Eve, ” he said, “ you have had no sorrow that 
you should speak in such a fashion ?” 

She smiled, and he thought how like her face was to that 
of pictured angels. 

“ Yes,” she said, “I have a great sorrow ; but it is dumb 
— it will never find a voice — it will die with me, and be 
buried in my grave. ” 

“ What has your sorrow done for you, Eve ?” he asked, 
after a time. 

Again came the beautiful light on the sweet face. 

“ It has opened my heart, ” she replied, “ it has killed all 
self-love, it has made me love and pity every one who has 
suffered, it has taught me that life is but short, and that 
heaven is my true home. ” 

“It shall teach me the same,” he said, “if you will help 
me. Eve. I loved her so dearly that my loss has almost 
killed me.” 

His pride and self-control gave way — he sobbed like a 
child. 

“ My dear old friend !” said Eve, and, as simply as a child 
might have done it, she drew his head upon her arm, and 
the first tears he shed over the great sorrow of his life fell 
on her kindly ministering hands. 


130 


WEAKER TEAK A WOMAN 


CHAPTER XXV. 

“why this merry chime to-day?” 

From that day a change came over Felix Lonsdale ; he 
went home even that same evening an altered man ; he 
opened his heart to the love and sympathy that Katie 
showed him. The proud, stern coldness fell from him — 
he took the children in his arms and kissed the little faces. 
He said to himself that children of his own would never 
climb his knees — children of his own would never gladden 
his heart. 

He did not suffer less, but it was in another fashion now. 
He worked harder than ever ; he said to himself that if it 
were possible he would drown his sorrow in the hardest 
work he could find. And yet he did not know the worst ; 
he only knew that Violet had broken her promise, and de- 
clared it impossible to marry him ; he had not the faintest 
notion that there was really any wealthy lover at hand. He 
believed firmly that her parents had talked to her and 
argued with her until she had been overruled by them. 
Still at Lilford — all but himself — knew that Violet was 
going to marry Sir Owen ; it had been kept quite secret for 
some time, but now the day was fixed — the fourteenth of 
September — and there could no longer be any secrecy. 

The whole place was in a ferment over it. There was 
to be a grand dinner given to all the tenants, to all the 
servants and dependents ; and the bell-ringers had been told 
how many times a merry peal was to be rung on the old 
church bells, in honor of the bride and bridegroom. The 
only persons who knew nothing of all this were the inhabit- 
ants of Vale House — the invalid father who saw no one 
but the doctor and Eve Lester, the kindly, industrious 
young step-mother, and the young lover himself. No one 
cared to speak to them on such a subject, and they were 
the last to hear it. Even Evelyn, who never shrank from 
trouble, shrank from speaking to them about it. 

Felix wondered one night, when she came to Vale House, 
why she was so kind, so tender and compassionate to him, 
why she hovered round him like a mother over a sick child, 
why she spoke such low, earnest words to him — so noble, 
so beautiful, that his whole soul was stirred by them. 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


131 


‘‘Felix,” she said, “listen to this. It is a verse I read 
last night in a poem by Adelaide Anne Procter. I copied 
it to read to you because I thought it so beautiful. ” She 
was sitting by his side in the attitude that painters of old 
gave to guardian angels, so full of love and protection. In 
her sweet, clear voice she read to him : 

“ Who is the angel that cometh ? 

Pain ! 

Let ns arise and go forth to greet him ; 

Not in vain 

Is the summons come for us to meet him. 

He will stay 
And darken our sun ; 

He will stay 

A desolate night, a weary day, _ 

Since in that shadow our work is done, 

And in that shadow our crowns are won. 

Let us say still while his bitter chalice 
Slowly into our hearts is poured — 

Blessed is he that cometh 
In the name of the Lord I 

“It is very beautiful,” he said, when the sweet voice 
ceased — it was as though a strain of solemn music had 
died away — “ very beautiful. I shall remember the angel 
of pain, and show him a brave face, I hope, when he comes. 
But tell me why you speak to me in this strain to-night ? 
It may be only my fancy, but it has seemed to me that on 
the face of every man and woman I have met to-day I have 
read pity ; it must be fancy, but it seems to me so strange. ” 
She could have told him that every man, woman, and 
child in Lilford knew that on the morrow Violet Haye 
was to marry Sir Owen. She could have told him also that 
there was none among them who did not feel sorry for him 
and indignant with her. 

“ I had almost begun to fear that there was something 
fresh concerning that unfortunate will,” he said, “people 
have been so strange with me. It cannot be my love-story ; 
no one knows that. People all know, of course, that Violet 
has gone away to London ; but I do not think any one out 
of our own household knows that she has broken with me. ” 
Eve could not tell him ; she could help him, she could 
strengthen his heart and his mind, but she could not look 
at him and say, “To-morrow will be Violet’s wedding- 
day.” She turned away sick at heart when she remem- 
bered the treachery, the cruelty, and the deceit — sick at 
heart that she could not take the whole burden upon her- 
self, and suffer for him. She was brave enough, but she 


132 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAK 


could not say to him, “ The girl for love of whom you are 
breaking your heart thinks so little of you — so little of your 
pain — that she is going to marry to-morrow the man 
above all others whom you dislike. ” 

She talked to him again in the same strain — of the gran- 
deur and nobility of sorrow, the bravery of bearing pain, 
the cowardice of falling under a burden ; and then, when 
she left him, she whispered to Katie : 

“ Be very kind to him to-morrow, madre. He will stand 
sorely in need of it.” 

But even Kate did not dream what the words meant. 

The harvest moon that night shone down upon many 
different scenes. It crept into a superb room in London, 
where Sir Owen, flushed with love and wine, told with 
many an oath to a choice circle of friends how he had out- 
witted the lawyer and carried off his bride. 

“ I shall have some fine amusement with him when I re- 
turn to Garswood,” he said. “He must have been as vain 
as Narcissus himself to think that any girl would prefer 
him to me. ” 

His friends drank his costly wines and applauded him— 
each ignoble sentiment, each mean idea — until they could 
do so no longer. 

The moon looked in at another window — the window of a 
magnificent chamber, wherein lay all the details of a superb 
bridal costume — a lace vail of priceless value, a wreath of 
orange-blossoms, white satin shoes, and white gloves, with 
a dress that was a triumph of art. It shone on a pretty 
white bed whereon a young girl lay — on golden hair that 
was all disheveled and lying in silken profusion over the 
pillow — on a fair and beautiful face all stained with tears ; 
for on this evening something like remorse had come to 
Violet Haye, and she had wept with a wild cry for the lover 
whom she had bartered for gold. Even the diamonds, the 
costly gems, the rich dresses, the wealth and grandeur for 
which she had sold herself, had not power to soothe her. 
The same moon shone into the room where Eve Lester 
knelt, her fair face raised to the evening skies, praying 
Heaven to help the man she loved through the bitter hour 
of his pain and desolation. It shone into the room where 
Felix sat writing because he could not sleep and was un- 
able to find rest in anything except work. The silvery 
moon shone brightly over all. 

Felix worked until his tired eyes could see no longer, 
and then he put away his papers. He had business for the 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


133 


morrow, and, if he could not sleep, he said to himself that 
he might close his eyes and think of that. 

He went to the office early the next morning, and it 
struck him that there was an unusual stir in the streets. A 
band of music passed him. He saw the people, gayly 
dressed, all going in the same direction. He wondered if 
there was a anywhere, or any fair that he had forgot- 
ten. It was the fourteenth of September— no, he could not 
remember that it differed from any other day. He saw 
that it was a very lovely morning ; there was bright sun- 
shine, a sweet western wind, while all nature looked blithe 
and gay ; still he could not understand the commotion in 
the town. 

He went into his office — even the clerk was not there. 
Without loss of time he went to work busily at his papers. 
Ha ! Surely he was not mistaken as to the chime of the 
old church bells — surely they were chiming not an every- 
day chime — surely he heard a burst of jubilant melody, a 
clang of joyful sound ? He opened the window, and the 
rich waves of sound came in upon the sunlit air. 

“ It is like the sound of wedding-bells, ” he thought to 
himself, “ but no one has been married from here. ” 

There was something pathetic in the handsome, wonder- 
ing face leaning from the window, listening to the bells 
that were ringing his death-knell. 

He said to himself that it was no business of his, that he 
must go on with his work ; he should know during the day 
why the bells were rung. He went to his papers again, 
but it was impossible to write ; the air was full of music, 
the gay, sweet chime rang out every moment. He could 
not write ; it was as though a thousand gay and airy 
shapes were flitting around him. There was one consola- 
tion— the bell-ringing could not last— it must stop soon. 
He could not work with that mad, merry music Ailing the 
air ; but he could go and ask what it all meant. 

It was strange that the first person he saw was the 
vicar’s wife, Mrs. Hunter. He asked her why the bells 
were ringing ; and, as she looked at him, her eyes Ailed 
with tears. 

‘‘ They ring for so many things,” she replied— “ how can I 
tell which it is ?” 

He passed on, but, as he walked awav, she looked at 
him closely, while something like a sob rose to her lips. 

“Beautiful women are beautiful fiends sometimes,” said 
the vicar’s wife to herself. “I would not have done such 
a thing.” 


134 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


Felix thought her strange — but he had almost ceased to 
wonder at anything. Then he met his old friend, Doctor 
Ludlow. He stopped and spoke to him. 

“ I ought to be very busy with my work, ” he said, “ but 
those bells distract me. I have had to put away my writ- 
ing. What are they ringing for, doctor ?” 

And the kind-hearted doctor looked sadly at him. 

“ Have you not heard ?” he asked. 

“ No — I hear so little — I am so busy always. What is 
it for ?” 

But the doctor could not tell him. 

“ Gro as far as the church, ” he said, “ the walk will do 
you good this beautiful morning. Ask the ringers — they 
are sure to know.” 

He had not the time to spare, but the morning was fine, 
and some strange instinct that he could not account for 
hurried him on. 

“ Why are you ringing this merry chime to-day ?” he 
asked of one of the ringers, a white-headed old man, whose 
arms were wearied, and who sat resting on one of the green 
graves. 

“ Why ? Because the great Sir Owen is married to-day. 
Master Lonsdale. ” 

“ Married !” cried Felix. ‘‘ Married to whom ?” 

The chiming ceased, and the wind fell as the old man 
answered : 

“Married to Violet Haye.” 


CHAPTEK XXVI. 

THE EARL’S PROMISE. 

There are no finer woods in England than the woods that 
surround Bramber Towers. Bramber is a glorious estate, 
and the woods extend to Lilford. They form the massive 
background of trees which helps to render the old church 
so picturesque and artistic. 

The Earl of Arlington, master of the Towers, had but one 
fault in the eyes of the county — he was too fond of travel- 
ing. It was no unusual thing for the Towers to be closed 
for two or three years, while the earl, with his wife and 
daughter, delighted in fair Continental cities. It was the 
one drawback to a noble character, for Lord Arlington 
was one of those fortunate men who are born with a keen 
sense of duty. He was a model landowner, a model land- 
lord, a model country gentleman. When ho was at the 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


185 


Towers everything was sure to go well ; he had a keen 
sense of justice — he gave himself the trouble to examine 
thoroughly into everything. He was never hasty, impa- 
tient, or unjust. He was almost idolized in the county. 
Most of the town of Lilf ord belonged to him, and he took the 
greatest possible interest in the place. He made a point of 
attending the public meetings ; he would have justice — 
“Justice” was his motto. “Let justice be* done, though 
the heavens fall” was a favorite quotation of his. Woe to 
any man who tried to belie another, and then fell into his 
hands. Woe to any voter who trifled with his votes. 

Lord Arlington was a straightforward, honest, honorable 
Englishman — all devious ways and tortuous paths were un- 
known to him. It was always observed that if he were ab- 
sent for any length of time things went wrong. His first 
concern on his return was to endeavor to set them right. He 
had been nearly three years this time, lingering with his 
beautiful wife and daughter in the quaint cities of old Spain. 
He reached home on the eleventh of September, and he 
feared that, as usual, during his absence much had gone 
wrong. His return was hardly known in the neighborhood, 
for one of the things that Lord Arlington disliked was 
fuss ; why should there be a scene every time he returned ? 
So he generally kept his intention secret. 

The countess was a beautiful, quiet, refined woman. One 
of her great characteristics was her sympathetic manner. 
She possessed that keen insight into the hearts and feel- 
ings of others which creates sympathy. It was natural to 
her to feel intensely the sorrows and joys of others. There 
were two children — the young heir. Lord Bramber, who 
was still at Oxford, and Lady Maude Bramber, a lovely 
girl about two years older than her brother. 

Lady Maude inherited her mother’s peculiarly sympa- 
thetic nature. She was as gifted as she was beautiful, and 
the one thing in which she excelled was art. She would 
have made one of the finest painters of the day had she 
not been an earl’s daughter ; as it was, her pictures were 
far superior to those of many well-known artists. It was 
at her solicitation that Lord Arlington returned home that 
autumn. She had seen the finest parts of Europe — the 
most picturesque — the most beautiful ; but there was noth- 
ing she liked better than the fine old woods round Bramber ; 
and she loved them best in autumn, when the leaves were 
falling and the glorious tints of the foliage made a picture 
the tints of which could not be transferred to canvas. 

She had begged that they might spend the autumn at 


136 


WEAKm THAN A IV03IAN, 


home, for the beauty of an English autumn surpassed any- 
thing which they could see abroad. Her wish was complied 
with, as is the wish of a spoiled child often, and she prom- 
ised herself a few pleasant months. 

She set out one morning with her sketch-book and pen- 
cils. The countess suggested that she should take a maid 
or a footman with her — Lady Maude laughed. 

“No danger., lurks in our English woods, mamma,” she 
said. “If I Avere in Italy or Greece I might meet a few 
brigands ; here at Bramber there will be nothing worse 
than the pretty brown hares and the little squirrels. I 
could not sketch at my ease with a great idle man waiting 
for me. ” 

So she went alone into the Bramber Woods. She wanted 
a few sketches of English trees in their ruby-tinted autumn 
dress, and some of the finest in England grew amid the 
fern and bracken in the Bramber Woods. She had no fear 
— why should she have any ? The sky was blue, the sun 
bright and warm, the air full of music and song. As she 
entered the woods she fancied that she heard a faint chim- 
ing of distant bells. 

“They are the bells of Lilford’s old church,” she said to 
herself ; “ what a mellow, rich sound. I shall not hear it 
presently. ” 

It died away as she entered the beautiful green glades ; 
the sound could not penetrate the thick masses of foliage. 

“ I want oak, ash, and elm, ” she thought ; “ and here I 
shall find all three.” 

There was a broad, open space, and a majestic oak spread 
out its great branches there. It was like a little kingdom 
in itself, this wonderful oak — a great green kingdom with 
a life all its own. Near it stood a very fine elm, and in the 
distance she saw the branches of a fine ash tree. Not far 
from here was a pretty little brook, so clear that one could 
see the pebbles at the bottom of it ; it ran Avith a sweet, 
musical ripple that was a song in itself. The birds were 
having an entertainment of some kind in the green king- 
dom of leaves, and the noise they made over it was con- 
tinuous. 

As she became absorbed in the keen delight of her 
sketching, she forgot her feathered neighbors. They no 
longer disturbed her. The wind sounded like an ^olian 
harp among the trees, but that was music she liked ; the 
merry rabbits hopped among the bracken and fern, the 
squirrels played among the spreading boughs. It was all 
so still, so peaceful, so beautiful that she thought she could 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


137 


sit there sketching forever. Once she was disturbed ; she 
fancied that from the long western glade on the other side 
of her there came the sound of reckless running footsteps, 
and then of a heavy fall, but after a moment or two she 
concluded that it was only the rabbits. 

“ They are having a steeplechase, ” she said, and laughed 
at the idea ; then the pencil trembled in her fingers, for 
surely she heard the sound of terrible sobbing, great pas- 
sionate, bitter sobs. She could not be mistaken — they grew 
more bitter and deep, and then all was still. She tried to 
go on with her drawing, but her hand trembled — she could 
not persuade herself that what she had heard was fancy. 
Something must have made the noise — she would go and 
see. 

She was one of the most fearless of maidens ; all the high 
courage and undaunted bravery of her race lived in her. 
She put her drawing materials aside, and went toward 
the place whence the sound had proceeded. Her heart beat 
fast when she saw before her the prostrate figure of a 
man. There was no sobbing now, only a death-like silence, 
and the man lay with his face downward. She did not 
faint, or scream, or run away, but she listened for his 
breathing, this dainty daughter of a noble race. Was he 
dead? Had he swooned ? Was he hurt? She grew pale, 
and trembled when, on the cool green grass, she detected 
stains of blood. Once, twice she spoke to him, and then 
she raised his head, and looked into his face. How hand- 
some it was — just such a face as she had seen given to a 
Greek god — such a face as she had seen in marble in the 
dim light of old Roman galleries. Then she saw that on 
the temple, so white, so rounded, so full of ideality, there 
was a terrible wound. A moment’s refiection showed her 
what the wound was. Just above him was the branch of 
a tree. He must* have been running in hot haste, and, not 
seeing the branch with its sharp, jagged edge, had run 
against it. He had fallen there, and had swooned, proba- 
bly because the blow had stunned him. 

What a handsome face it was, but how terribly marked 
with pain ! What did all those great lines mean on the fair 
brow and round, beautiful mouth? Warm pity and tender 
compassion rose in her heart for him. She laid the help- 
less head on the grass again, and went and dipped her 
handkerchief in the brook. She laid it on his brow ; she 
bound up the cruel, gaping wound, and she looked like an 
angel of compassion bending over him. Suddenly, to her 
^reat relief, he opened his eyes and gazed at her. . , 


138 


WEAKER TEAK A WOMAN. 


“ Violet !” he said. 

“I am not Violet,” she replied. 

She saw his whole face change. 

“Oh, Eve, Eve,” he said, “you told me of the angel of 
pain, but the trial was more than I could bear. ” 

“ I am not Eve, ” she told him, gently, but from the dim, 
shadowed look in his eyes she knew that he did not hear 
her. 

G-ently and quietly, with softest touch, she bathed his 
hot brow with the cool water of the brook until she saw 
that his senses had returned to him. 

“ I found you here, badly hurt, ” she said. 

He tried to rise, but he was quite unable to stir. She laid 
her hand upon his arm. 

“No,” she said, “you must not try to stand — you will 
feel better soon. You are dazed and giddy — you must have 
struck your head against this branch. Where were you 
running so quickly ?” 

“ Away from the sound of the bells,” he answered. “I 
knew that I should not hear them in the depths of the 
Bramber Woods.” 

“ Did they distress you ?” she asked. “ I thought them so 
beautiful. ” 

“They drove me mad — they were killing me,” he re- 
plied. Then, with a low cry, he bent his face toward the 
long grass. 

“ I feel sure that I have seen you before,” she said. “Do 
you know me ? I am Lady Bramber ; and you — I have 
seen you at the Towers. Surely you are Mr. Felix Lons- 
dale, the dear old lawyer’s son?” 

He looked at her. 

“Yes, I am Felix Lonsdale,” he replied ; “and I begin to 
think that Heaven has placed a black cross against my 
name. I ought to have known you. Lady Maude. I re- 
member you now, but my head was all confused. ” 

“Your face is quite familiar to me, ” said Lady Maude. 
“You came to the Towers with your father — it is four 
years since — and you took luncheon with us. I showed you 
some of my drawings, and you were very shy. It comes 
back to me so vividly. But, Mr. Lonsdale, why were you 
running from the sound of those bells ?” 

She saw a spasm of pain pass over his handsome face ; 
his lips trembled. 

“Do not agitate yourself,” she said, kindly. “Do not 
tell me if it pains you. ” 

“All the world— all my world— toiows it,” he replied. “I 


WEAKM TTUil A WOMAN. 


139 


will tell you, Lady Maude. I ran, mad, blind, reckless, 
from those bells because they are chiming in honor of the 
marriage of the girl I loved — the girl who had promised to 
marry me. ” 

‘‘Surely,” said Lady Maude, with a light breaking over 
her face, “you do not mean your pretty, golden-haired 
sweetheart, Violet Haye? Your father told us about her 
that day at the Towers. ” 

“ Yes ; she has married Sir Owen Chevenix to-day, and 
the wedding-bells were driving me mad.” 

“Poor boy,” said Lady Maude, rather to herself than to 
him, “ I am not surprised at it. You shall not tell me 
about it now,” added Lady Maude, after a silence of some 
few seconds. “ It is the old story, I suppose, of trust and 
love, folly and treachery. Tell me of your home, your 
father — I was always very fond of your father. How is 
he ?” 

Sympathy was so sweet. They were sitting under the 
great boughs of the spreading elm. Lady Maude’s just and 
gentle heart ached with pity for him. It seemed to him 
such relief to talk to her. He felt weak and languid — 
woman’s sweet, soft words, woman’s pity and sympathy, 
were very acceptable to him just then. 

He did not speak of Violet, but he told her the story of 
his father’s bitter trials — how Mrs. Hardman’s money was 
left to them, how happy it had made them, what plans 
and hopes they had built on it ; then of the disputed will, 
the trial, the verdict ; how his father’s business had fallen 
away from him, and his old friends had one by one de- 
serted him, all but Eve Lester ; and he told her how Eve 
had come to offer her fortune to them. 

Lady Maude’s eyes filled with tears as she listened. 

“ That is a girl after my own heart, ” she said. “ That is 
just one of the things I should have done myself. But do 
you mean to tell me, Mr. Lonsdale, that this is the outcome 
of English law ? I have never heard of so cruel a case. 
All who know your father know that he is as incapable of 
doing wrong as any man in England — in fact, he would 
not do wrong — he is one of the honestest and noblest of 
men. I have always heard him so highly spoken of. You 
do not mean to say that his fellow-townsmen and the old 
friends who have known him for years stand aloof from 
him for this ?” 

She spoke with angry indignation that did his heart 
good to hear. 

“It is true,” he replied ; “and, what is more, they have 


140 


WEAKM than a womak. 


withdrawn their business from him — some under one pre- 
text, some under another. We have had a struggle such 
as few could understand, and my great fear is that my 
father will never be a strong man again. ” 

“He wants reaction,” she said — “something that would 
put him back into his place — that would reinstate him in 
public opinion ; and he shall have it. I will tell this story, 
just as you have told it to me, to the earl, my father, and I 
am sure this is one of the wrongs he will hasten to redress. 

I am glad that I have seen you, glad that you have trusted 
me. There has been a gross miscarriage of justice.” 

“ Human laws must always be more or less imperfect, ” 
returned Felix. “ It is only the Divine laws that have no' 
flaw. ” 

“Tell me more of Eve Lester,” said Lady Maude. “Your 
fair, false Violet does not interest me, but Eve Lester 
does. I love noble women — tell me more of her. ” 

He told of her patience, her heroism, her noble, gentle, 
generous life ; and Lady Maude, looking at him, wondered 
why, when he understood the beauty of her fair soul so 
well, he had not loved her in preference to Violet. 

“Men are all the same,” she thought; “a fair face will 
lead them in any direction. They lose their heads when 
beauty comes upon the scene ; they are not strong-minded / 
as a rule. ” Then with a smile she looked up at Felix. 

“ The little mouse in the fable freed the lion. I will be 
the mouse in this instance, and I promise you such help for 
your father as shall make his trouble really a blessing in 
disguise.” 

He thought of Eve’s words and repeated them to her. 
She smiled. 

“Your friend Eve is right,” she said. “Sorrow is often 
a blessing in disguise. I am glad that I have met you ; 
you will go home all the happier for knowing that the hour 
of your father’s triumph is at hand. You will have some- 
thing to distract your thoughts from fair, false Violet ; 
and, remembering my promise, the fourteenth of Septem- 
ber, her wedding-day, will not be the most unhappy day 
of your life after all. ” 

He thanked her until the tears came into her eyes again, 
and then he told her that he was better, and asked her to 
let him walk with her to the end of the wood. When he 
tried to stand up, he looked very white and ill — she almost 
feared for him ; but the giddiness soon passed, and they 
walked together to where she had left her drawing mate- 
rials. He thanked her again and again so simply and ear- 


WEAKEB THAN A WOMAN. 141 

nestly that she was charmed. Then she left him, and went 
away home. 

Felix had intended to take up his burden bravely and 
carry it nobly, but human love and human passion were 
too strong for him^he could not face the world just yet. 
He staid all night in the shelter of the Bramber Woods, 
doing hard battle with his despair ; he watched the sun 
set, and the moon rise ; he watched the golden stars come 
out one by one ; he watched the checkered shadows that 
the moon threw upon the grass ; he listened to the wind as 
it sang its sweet song ; he thought of all the moonlit nights 
on which he had met Violet. He fell asleep for a few short 
moments, and dreamed that he stood under the wet lilac 
bushes with her ; her arms were clasped around his neck, 
her beautiful face was raised to his, and she was scolding 
him that even in a dream he could believe her false. 
He woke with a cry of rapture. There lay the cold moon- 
light, there stood the giant trees, and Violet had married 
Sir Owen. 

All night he staid there. It was the one terrible battle 
of his life. He was not ashamed to impart all his sorrow to 
the listening stars. They had listened to CEnone’s wailing 
when beautiful Paris left his love. This story of man’s 
love and woman’s folly, of man’s trust and woman’s 
treachery, of love forsaken and forsworn, was nothing 
new to them. There were times that night when he almost 
went mad, when he cried aloud for death. But Heaven 
was merciful, and death came not. The morning light 
found him pale, weak, and exhausted, but that one fierce 
paroxysm had taken the sting of his sorrow away. It was 
better than if he had gone home and been ill for long days 
and weeks. That one fierce night of pain exhausted him ; 
when it had passed he was too weak and too tired to suffer 
more. 

He went home in the full light of morning, and found 
Katie waiting for him. She had guessed what had hap- 
pened. She had not spoken of his absence, but she looked 
anxiously at his face when he came in. He bent down and 
kissed her. 

“It is all over, madre,” he said. “Now I shall live down 
my pain. ” 

Katie looked sadly at the wound on his broad, white 
brow. 

“How did you cut yourself so terribly, Felix?” she 


WEAKEn TIIAE A WOMAK 


m 

asked ; and he told her. It was one of his great merits that 
he never spoke a false or evasive word. 

On that same night Lady Chevenix sat with her husband 
in a first-class railway carriage on the road to Paris. They 
were to spend their honey-moon there, and they had left 
Dover by that night’s steamer. As the night grew darker 
and the red lights of the signals passed more quickly, she 
fell into a deep, troubled slumber. Her husband looked 
with exulting pride at the marvelous face with its exquis, 
ite beauty ; he was glad that she slept — it would rest her- 
and would help to while the hours away. He tried to 
sleep, but it was impossible. He was exultant, triumphant ; 
he had won the only thing wanting to complete the happi- 
ness of his life. His heart hungered as he looked at the 
graceful figure of his wife. He noted with pride and pleas- 
ure how the handsome traveling-dress became her sweet 
loveliness. 

The folly of that lawyer to imagine that such a woman 
as this was born to live in a place like Lilford. His year’s 
income would not find her a decent dress. He will recog- 
nize his mistake when he sees Lady Chevenix. ” 

It was strange that no feeling of pity for his rival or 
remorse for his own behavior crossed his mind. He did not 
seem even to understand that he had done a dishonorable 
thing. He had outwitted another man, and he was de- 
lighted. Then he saw the face that he was watching grow 
paler in sleep. Suddenly his young wife awoke with a 
loud cry. He saw her look at both her hands, while her 
white lips trembled. 

“What is it, Violet?” he asked. 

“A dream,” she replied, shuddering, “only a dream.” 

“Very horrid things they are, too, sometimes,” he said. 
“What did you dream” ? 

She was still looking at her hands, rubbing the softly- 
tinted gloves as though she would fain rub something from 
them. She was too confused to be quick at invention. 

“What did you dream?” he repeated, and there was a 
certain sharpness in his voice. 

“I thought that I held a human heart in my hand, and 
that it was bleeding, ” she replied. 

“That would do for a sensation novel, Violet,” he said, 
laughing. “You have something better than a heart in 
your hand — you have a diamond ring on your finger worth 
two hundred pounds, and you have a wedding-ring that 
makes you Lady Chevenix. Go to sleep again, but dream 


WEAKEB THAN A WOMAN 


143 


of diamonds, my dear, not hearts — as whist players say, 
diamonds are trumps. ” 

But sleep had gone from "V iolet ; she watched the skies 
until morning dawned, and more than once, although she 
was Lady Chevenix of Garswood, one of the wealthiest 
women in England, she wished that it were all undone, and 
that she was Violet Haye again. 

On that same night Lady Maude and Lord Arlington 
talked long and earnestly. She told him the story that 
she had heard, and asked him for help. He thought long 
over it. 

“I know of one way in which I can help him, Maude,” 
he said, “but that will require consideration.” Then he 
said a few words in a low voice. 

She clasped her hands. 

“Will you do that, papa?” she interrogated. “That 
would be one of the grandest things in the world. I shall 
be so pleased — far more pleased than at any good fortune 
which could happen to myself. ” 

“I will think of it,” replied Lord Arlington, and when he 
spoke in the tone that he did then his daughter knew that 
he was determined to accomplish what he had in view. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

A TRUE NOBLEMAN. 

There was great excitement in the town of Lilford. As 
one man said to another, they might alway expect some- 
thing strange when the earl came home ; but this was 
stranger than all. The earl’s tenants, and every man in 
Lilford with whom he did business of any kind, received 
an invitation to dine with the earl at the “Bramber Arms.” 

The “Bramber Arms” was the chief hotel in Lilford. It 
boasted of a large assembly room, where the county balls 
and the hunt balls were all given. It was the very strong- 
hold and fortress of the aristocracy of 'the neighborhood, 
and its resources were wonderful. The dinner to the ten- 
ants was to be served in the assembly room. People called 
it a rent dinner, such as the earl generally gave to his ten- 
ants once a year ; but they agreed that there was something 
more in it than that, or why were so many bidden who 
were not tenants ? Why were the doctors, the vicar, and 
every other person with whom the earl had any business 
relations asked, and many more besides ? The earl, it was 
remarked, rode or drove through Lilford almost every day, 


144 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


and he was sure each day to give three or four invitations. 
Public expectation and excitement increased. What could 
the earl mean by such unlimited hospitality ? 

The proprietor of the “Bramber Arms” gave glowing ac- 
counts of the dinner that was to be prepared. No expense 
was to be spared. He was to provide the most costly wines, 
the choicest dishes. He declared that during his business 
career he had known nothing like it. 

Felix heard of the grand banquet, the rent dinner, as it 
was called, and went home one evening pleased to have 
some news that would interest his father. When he 
reached Vale House he was astonished to find that two 
letters of invitation were there before him, one for his 
father and one for himself. 

“That is wonderful,” he said. “Why has the earl invited 
us?” 

Nor was his wonder much decreased when in his 
father’s letter he read a few words written in the earl’s 
own handwriting, and signed “Arlington” — a few kindly 
words, begging Mr. Lonsdale, if possible, to be present, as 
he very much wished to see him. 

“That means good news for you, father,” he said. He 
had never mentioned his interview with Lady Maude, 
neither had he forgotten it. 

Mr. Lonsdale shook his head gravely. 

“There will be no more good news for me in this world, 
my dear boy — no second Will-o’-the-wisp will ever lead me 
astray. For the future I shall believe in nothing but what 
I see.” 

“You will find I am right,” said Felix. “You will go, 
father, will you not ?” 

“Yes, I will go, just to show my fellow-townsmen that, 
while they treat me as a thief or a swindler, the Earl of 
Arlington treats me as a gentleman. I will go, if only to 
show them that. Yet I have some misgivings, Felix. If 
they avoid me as they have done it will kill me. Felix, 
what if his lordship has heard nothing of this story, and 
has invited me in ignorance ? What if, when he finds it 
out, he avoids me, too ?” 

“My dear father, why dwell on trifies? Lord Arlington 
says expressly that he wishes to see you. Surely you do 
not doubt his word ? He has been so much in Lilford lately 
that you may be quite sure he has heard the whole history. ” 

In his heart Felix felt certain that Lady Maude had told 
her father all about it, and that this invitation of the earl’s 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


145 


had something to do with her communication. He placed 
his arm caressingly around his father’s neck. 

‘‘You must get better, father,” he said, “and come with 
me. ” 

“I will, Felix ; I will do my best,” he replied. 

Eve Lester came and talked to him ; Kate cheered him, 
and between them the sorrow- stricken man took courage, 
and resolved to go among his friends again. Friends or 
foes, no matter which, he would go among them. 

Kate will never forget how she helped him to dress, how 
she quieted the trembling nerves, while Eve cheered him 
with brave words. 

“I shall remain here until you return,” she said, “for I 
am quite certain you will bring good news with you, though 
I cannot think what the good news will be. ” 

“I am quite at a loss to imagine why both Eve and you, 
Felix, should think good fortune lies in store for me,” 
observed Darcy Lonsdale. “I have been under a shadow 
too long. ” 

But Felix would not listen to one desponding word. 

They had engaged a fly to carry them to the “Bramber 
Arms, ” and both father and son were surprised at the deco- 
rations, the flags, the evergreens, the arches of welcome. 

“People show great respect to Lord Arlington,” said 
Darcy Lonsdale, “and well they may, for he is a just man.” 

Then together father and son entered the assembly 
room, where the grand banquet was laid. They saw the 
earl at the top of the room, surrounded by a group of gen- 
tlemen. 

“I shall go straight to him, Felix,” said the lawyer; 
“ there shall be no mistake about it. I will not sit at his 
table under false pretenses.” 

“ You shall do as you will, father ; where you lead I will 
follow,” was Felix’s reply. 

Darcy Lonsdale walked up to the earl, but, before he had 
time to speak to him. Lord Arlington held out his hand 
and shook his with a hearty grasp. 

“ I am delighted to see you, Mr. Lonsdale, ” he said, 
warmly. 

But Darcy Lonsdale, looking into the earl’s face, said : 

“ My lord, before I take advantage of your kindness, let 
me ask you if you have heard my story — if you have heard 
that I have been charged with influencing one of my cli- 
ents to leave me money ?” 

“ Yes, I have heard it,” replied the earl. 

^‘Have you heard that a jury of my own countrymen 


146 


WEAKER TEAK A WOMAK 


found me guilty, and that my fellow-townsmen — the old 
friends whom I have spent all my life among — in their 
own minds found me guilty, too, and have shown their 
opinion, most of them, by withdrawing their business from 
me — the old friends I loved and served, my lord ?” 

The earl took his hand again. 

“ I have heard it, Mr. Lonsdale, and regret it. I am glad 
to have this chance of saying pulDlicly that I disbelieve all 
that has been said about your guilt, and am proud to take 
the hand of an honest, iniured man.” 

“ I thank you, my lord, ” returned Darcy Lonsdale. 

His wonder increased when the earl, turning to him, 
said : 

“Your place, Mr. Lonsdale, is at my right hand.” 

The lawyer looked at him in amazement. Lord Arling- 
ton smiled. 

“Yes, at my right hand,” he said, “and after dinner you 
will know the reason why. ” 

Wondering at this, Darcy Lonsdale took his seat. 

“Your son will sit next to you,” said Lord Arlington. “ I 
shall want him as well. ” 

Mr. Lonsdale saw the looks of wonder from all the gen- 
tlemen assembled. 

“ They are not accustomed to see me so honored, ” he 
said to himself, bitterly. 

Then the grand banquet began, and it was one long re- 
membered in Lilford, because of its grandeur and costli- 
ness ; those who partook of it described it in few words — it 
was worthy of the earl who gave it. It came to a close at 
last, and the earl ordered some more wine. 

“I shall have a toast to propose presently, gentlemen,” 
he said, “ for which I shall want brimming glasses. Before 
giving it, however, I have a few words to say to you. ” 

Silence, deep and impressive, fell over them ; when the 
earl spoke in the tone that he did he meant something. 
There was not the faintest sound when he began. 

“ Gentlemen, old friends, and neighbors I may say, there 
has been an injustice done among you which I have asked 
you here to-day to set straight. Understand me plainly, as 
an Englishman I uphold the legal institutions of my coun- 
try. I bow my head to the decision of a judge ; I listen 
with respect to the verdict of a jury. But, gentlemen, 
human laws, just because they are human and not divine, 
must at times err ; and I say they erred when they pro- 
nounced a man, as honest, industrious, and honorable as 
my friend Darcy Lonsdale capable of influencing a yroraan 


WEAKM TlIAn A WOMAN. 


147 


to leave him her money. Gentlemen, the judge who gave 
sentence against him was a stranger to him, and the jury 
who decided in favor of the heir-at-law did not know him. 
But you know him ; he has lived among you all his life, he 
has served you to the best of his knowledge, and not one 
among you, man, woman, or child, can say that he has 
ever spoken a false word or done a mean or underhand 
deed. He has always been industrious, honest, and gener- 
ous — one of those men who make the very backbone of Old 
England — a loyal subject, a spirited townsman, a true 
friend, a devoted husband, a kind father. He has spent his 
life among you, and not one of you can say that you have 
ever known him to do wrong. If you can, speak. ” 

There was a dead silence which lasted for some moments, 
and then a voice said : 

“You are right, my lord. Notone among us has ever 
known him to do wrong. ” 

“I am sure not,” declared the earl. “Now mind what I 
say. With the jury and the judge who thought James 
Hardman entitled to Elizabeth Hardman’s money, and who 
really believed that Darcy Lonsdale had wrongfully used 
his great influence with her, I have nothing to do. They 
did their duty honestly, even if mistakenly. To you who 
constituted yourselves judge and jury — to you who, know- 
ing the man and his character, judged him yourselves as 
guilty — to you I wish to speak. I believe him to be inno- 
cent. I have read carefully since my return every word of 
the trial, and I say before you all, in the most emphatic 
words that I can use, that I believe him to be innocent, 
and, what is more, to be a deeply injured man.” 

He was obliged to stop, for there rose from the lips of 
the men who had misjudged Darcy Lonsdale, who had 
shunned him, who had withdrawn their business from him, 
who had half broken his honest heart by their conduct, a 
cheer such as had never been heard in Lilford. Perhaps 
in their hearts they had never quite believed him guilty. 
Perhaps the earl’s noble words touched them with com- 
punction and regret. Something appealed to them, and 
they cheered until the walls of the “ Bramber Arms’ ’ shook 
again. 

“We are agreed, then, gentlemen,” said the earl. “Our 
old friend and fellow-townsman is an honest, honorable 
gentleman. ” 

They cheered again and again. It was with some diffi- 
culty that the earl could make himself heard. At last si- 
lence was restored, and then he continued : 


148 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAM 


“We can never make up to him for all that he has 
suffered ; we cannot give him back the strength, the hope, 
the happiness he has lost ; we cannot atone for the 
wretched hours, the sleepless nights, and the weary days — 
all that is beyond us. But I have thought of a plan by 
which we may aid him, and I want the close attention of 
every gentleman present while I propose it. ” 

The earl paused for one moment, and those seated at his 
hospitable table looked earnestly at him ; there was still 
deeper silence when he began to speak again. 

“ There is no secrecy in England. Everything done in 
the country is as open as the sea that surrounds it. Our 
newspapers ventilate everything, and in one sense that is 
quite right ; but in a case like this it is hard. Throughout 
the length and breadth of England men have read how 
Darcy Lonsdale’s case went against him, and how he lost 
the money left to him. I want something else to go through 
the length and breadth of the land ; I want people to read 
how Darcy Lonsdale’s friends and townsmen — myself at 
their head — met and expressed their sympathy with him, 
and that they presented him with a handsome testimonial 
to show their full confidence in him and to make up for his 
loss. That testimonial I propose to head myself with five 
hundred pounds, and I venture to say there will not be a 
nobleman or a gentleman in the county who will not add 
his name to the list. ” 

Cheers again arose — never had the “Bramber Arms” 
heard such cheers. Darcy Lonsdale’s face had grown 
deathly pale, but for the strong arm of his son thrown 
around him, he would have fallen. 

“I have one word more to say, gentlemen,” continued the 
earl, “and it is this. My agent, Mr. John Sleaman, a gen- 
tleman whom you all know and respect, is leaving me. I 
am glad to say that a fortune has fallen to him, and that 
he is going to enjoy it. I propose now to ask Mr. Darcy 
Lonsdale to take his post. The emoluments are good — one 
thousand per annum and a house to live in. If he will ac- 
cept the office I shall be proud to place my interests, my 
welfare, my property, in the hands of a worthy, honest, 
and honorable gentleman. Yet one word more. Mr. Lons- 
dale is no longer young, but he has a son — I wish we all 
had such a son — and I propose that he acts, if necessary, in 
his father’s place, always, of course, with his authority; if 
he does, I shall secure two good agents instead of one. 
Gentlemen, join me in drinking the health of a valued, 


WEAKER THAiSf A WOMAN. 149 

trusted townsman, of an honest, honorable man, my agent, 
Darcy Lonsdale. ” 

It was drank with such honors as a man’s name seldom 
receives. Then Darcy Lonsdale rose and turned his white 
face to them, but he could make no speech — the only words 
his trembling lips could utter were : 

“Heaven bless you, my lord. I cannot thank you, 
though you have made a man of me again. My dear old 
friends and neighbors, how could you have misjudged me ? 
But you see now that it was all a mistake. I am glad of it. 
In future we will deal gently with each other, we will 
judge each other mercifully. Lord Arlington, you have 
saved my honor ; henceforward command me as you will. ” 
Then, unable to say any more, he sat down. 

Doctor Hunter was the first to leave his place and shake 
hands with him. 

“I never believed one word of the story, Mr. Lonsdale,” 
he said, “although I confess that I have avoided you. Will 
you shake hands and let the past be past ?” 

After that the guests went up to the lawyer one by one 
and shook his hand. Some frankly avowed that they had 
misjudged him, some begged his pardon, some said that 
they had gone with the many, but every man present 
wished him well and Godspeed in his new life. 

The speech worth hearing when that scene had passed, 
when justice had been done to an injured man, when peace 
had been made, was when Doctor Hunter stood up to pro- 
pose Lord Arlington’s health. Never was a toast so re- 
ceived, for there is nothing after all which touches an Eng- 
lishman’s heart sooner than defense of the weak, love of 
justice, and generosity. 

It was the most successful evening ever known, and it 
did an immense deal of good ; there was not a man present 
who did not learn a lesson from the earl, who did not re- 
solve in his heart to be more merciful, more pitiful, more 
charitable, who did not say to himself that he would be 
more careful in judging another time. And it was a strange 
thing that, when they came to compare notes there was 
not a man among them who had really believed the lawyer 
guilty ; they had gone only with what they thought was 
public opinion — one had removed his business from the 
office because another had, one had avoided Darcy Lonsdale 
because another had. But the earl had taught them a les- 
son which went home to each heart. 

It was such a pleasant evening, and Lord Arlington had 
so contrived matters that Darcy Lonsdale was the real hero 


150 


WEAKM THAN A WOMAN. 


and not himself. He was all that was most kind and con- 
siderate ; he talked to him, and won his son’s heart forever. 
But in everything he put Darcy first, so that people might 
understand all this had been done for him. Was it any 
wonder that when he was gone the men stood in little 
groups, each one praising him ? 

Felix followed him to the door of his carriage, and said : 

“ My lord, your life is filled, so people say, with great 
and generous actions, but none could be so great, so gener- 
ous, so noble, as that which you have done to-day. ” 

“I have only done justice, my dear boy,” said the earl, 
kindly. “Your father was an injured man; I have tried 
to set him straight. Au reste^ I wanted a good agent, and I 
have found one. ” 

“You cannot make light of the deed,” returned Felix; 
“ it is a good one. My father appears to be a new man to- 
night ; there is a light on his face and fire in his eyes that 
I have not seen for long months. The miracle has been 
worked by you — you have removed the false reproach at- 
taching to his name ; I can fancy, but I cannot tell you, 
what our home will be like to-night. My heart beats fast 
when I think of the mother and the children there, my lord. 
I am not very eloquent, and I am moved too much for 
words — I can only echo my father’s request, command me 
as you will. ” 

The earl was more touched than he liked to show, by the 
emotion on the handsome young face. 

“I will make you this one promise, Mr. Felix Lonsdale,” 
he said, “ if ever I want a service done, or want a friend, I 
will come to you. ” 

“Thank you, my lord,” responded Felix, and when the 
earl drove off home he knew that he had left some of the 
happiest hearts in England behind him. 

No wonder that they praised and blessed him ; he was 
a kind-hearted man, who knew how to use his influence in 
a noble manner — one of those men who, to keep alive in the 
hearts of the people a love for their rulers, do more than 
many orators and statesmen put together. 

What a night it was ! The vicar drove away soon after 
the earl had left, and then one by one the company dwin- 
dled down to about twenty. These would not let Darcy 
Lonsdale leave them — they had so much to say to him, and 
were so anxious to make up to him for their coldness, and 
when the host grew anxious they would not separate until 
they had sung “ Auld Lang Syne” in^chorus. Then they 


weakeh than a woman. 


151 


escorted father and son to Vale House, where Eve and 
Katie anxiously awaited them. 

I am quite sure, ” said Eve, springing from her seat, 
“ that I hear them, and that is Mr. Lonsdale laughing — do 
you hear, Katie? — laughing — and he has never laughed 
since the trial ! Now I know there is good news. ” 

There was good news in very truth, and the pity was that 
Lord Arlington was not there to see Kate clasp her arms 
around her husband’s neck and sob out that she always 
knew matters would come right — that he was so good 
Heaven was sure to make his innocence clear. Presently 
she looked at him with tremulous lips. 

“Is it really true, Darcy, that you are to be the earl’s 
agent, and have a thousand a year ? I can hardly believe 
that it is all true. ” 

“ It is true, Kate, ” he replied. “ Eve, my dear, what have 
you to say to me, my true friend — the one true friend who 
loved me well enough to offer me her fortune if I would 
take it ? Eve, I shall never forget that. ” 

It had been arranged that Eve should spend the night at 
Vale House, so they sat around the fire until they were 
quite ashamed of the hour, and Felix repeated every one of 
the earl’s noble words, while the two ladies listened in rap- 
tures ; every time he paused they said, “ GrO on, Felix, ” 
until he assured them that he had repeated every word. 

“ So it will be printed in every paper in England ?” said 
Kate. “Well, my only puzzle is, what could have inspired 
Lord Arlington to do such a kind and generous action ?” 

Felix knew that Lady Maude had been the chief instiga- 
tor of it, but that was a secret he never told — he kept it all 
his life. It was Darcy Lonsdale who answered his wife’s 
question. 

“ My dear Kate, ” he said, “ Lord Arlington has a love of 
seeing justice done. I remember when he raised half the 
county because some wrong had been done to a toll-gate 
keeper. It was such, men as he who made old England 
what she is, and who made the word ‘England’ a synonym 
for honor.” 

And then these simple people, who had been through the 
fiery furnace of suffering, who had borne sorrow, shame, 
and disgrace, who had never ventured to hope for justice in 
this world, knelt and thanked Heaven for their rescue ; and 
Darcy Londsale’s eyes grew dim with grateful tears as he 
opened his Bible and read how the just and merciful Crea- 
tor saves those who put their trust in Him. 

Gradually they awoke to the full reality of the good for- 


152 


WEAKEB THAN A WOMAN 


tune that had befallen them. The strength of his youth 
seemed to have returned to Darcy Lonsdale ; he took his 
place once more among his townsmen, he went briskly to 
and from his office, he worked hard at his business, the 
clerks came back one by one to the office, and far more 
than its ancient glory returned to the house of Lonsdale & 
Son. 

Katie could not rest until she had seen the earl, in order 
to thank him, and the little lady went over to Bramber 
Towers and asked for an interview. She tried to thank 
him in a dignified, matronly fashion, and ended by falling 
upon her knees and kissing his hand, very much to the 
earl’s confusion and delight. It was a new life for them 
all, and the warmth of it cheered and brightened them 
more than anything had ever done before. 

The day came when Darcy Lonsdale put his arm lov- 
ingly on his son’s shoulder, and said : 

‘‘ Do not think, Felix, that in the midst of my troubles 
and of my prosperity I have given no thought to you. I 
am doing the best I can for you by giving you so much 
work that you will have no time to regret your lost love. ” 

“ My dear father, I shall regret her until I die, ” re- 
turned Felix. 

“ The young always think both their love and their sor- 
row immortal. I will say now what I have never said be- 
fore, because I thought it would pain you — I thought she 
was not worthy of such love as yours. She had nothing 
but a beautiful face to recommend her — her soul was not 
beautiful, her heart was not true. The time will come 
when you will say that you had a fortunate escape. I pray 
Heaven that it may be so. ” 

But Felix looked grave ; the world must come to an end 
before he could see a silver lining to that cloud — the cloud 
of his misplaced, unhappy love. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

“l HEAR NOTHING BUT THE LONSDALES.” 

Lady Chevenix wrote a long letter home, telling her 
mother how greatly she was enjoying Paris — how she had 
been to one of the State balls at the Tuileries, and how the 
emperor had danced with her — and Mrs. Haye, on her side, 
made all the ladies round Lilford envious by telling them 
how her “dear child, Lady Chevenix,” was enjoying herself 


Weaker tuan a woman. 153 

in Paris, and what a favorite she was at the Imperial 
Court. 

Sir Owen was very kind to Violet in those days, and she 
was so completely dazzled by the novelty of all she saw 
that she never remembered Felix, except to congratulate 
herself on her own good sense in having given him his 
conge. Some slight indications of impatience made her 
think that Sir Owen had a certain amount of bad temper, 
but at present he had shown none to her — indeed, she 
thought him far better than he had represented himself. 
He had told her that he gambled and drank. She had seen 
nothing of these bad habits ; she was too inexperienced to 
detect that he had placed a restraint on himself which 
might break down any day. 

She did not like him very much. Although he was a 
baronet and a man of wealth, he was not a thorough gen- 
tleman. That she must have known. Thorough gentle- 
men are men of honor — and the man who steals the prom- 
ised wife of another man can hardly be placed under that 
category. She found that Sir Owen was coarse in his man- 
ners, coarse in his speech. She often, even in those early 
days, shrank from him, saying : 

“ You talk so strangely, Owen — I do not understand you.” 

“ Then you must have some lessons, my charming wife, ” 
he would answer, laughingly, following up the remark by 
speech that was anything but refined. 

That was done in good-humor ; what he could be when 
that humor changed she had yet to find out. She did not 
love him — she never made the least pretense of loving him. 
She was kind to him ; she tried to talk to him, to amuse 
him, she obeyed his wishes, and made herself very amiable 
and charming — not because she loved him, but because he 
was the means of procuring her all the luxury, the magnifi- 
cence, the pleasure that she now enjoyed. In his coarse 
way he felt that. 

He brought her home one day a set of sapphires so bril- 
liant and rare that she cried out with rapture when she 
saw them. 

“There are no sapphires finer than these,” he remarked. 
“What do you say for them, Violet?” 

“ I say ‘Thank you’ with all my heart,” she cried. | 

“Is that all, Violet?” 

“ What more can I say, except that you are good, kind, 
and generous ?” 

“Can you think of nothing else, Violet?” he asked. She 
looked puzzled. 


154 


WEAKER TEAK A WOMAK. 


“ I cannot, indeed, Owen ; but I will say anything you 
wish me to say. ” 

He turned away impatiently. 

“ If you thought any set form of w^ords, any pretty phrase 
would please me, you would use it — I am quite sure of 
that. ” 

With the brilliant sapphires in one of her hands, she 
looked half wistfully at him ; the man who had it in his 
power to make such presents as this was worth any 
amount of patience. 

“ I would say anything to please you, Owen, ” she said. 

He looked into her fair face. 

“ I knew you would, ” he returned, but it has never oc- 
curred to you to throw your arms around my neck and 
kiss me, and — and say, ‘ Thank you, my darling. ’ ” 

She shrank from him with a little shudder, his dark face 
was so close to hers. 

“I have noticed,” he said, “that you are always ready to 
thank me when I bring you any of the silly trifles women 
like so much — you are then most amiable, but never once, 
by Heaven, since we have been married have you come to 
me and kissed me of your own free will. ” 

“ I will do so now,” she said, and she placed the sapphires 
in their cases. 

“No, thank you,” he returned. “ It would not be sponta- 
neous. You would do it because I asked you.” 

She was startled at the expression of his face, at the 
tone of his voice — startled, and just a little afraid. 

“You do love me, Violet, do you not?” he asked. 

She had never thought about loving him ; he was to her 
a rich man who had wanted her to marry him, who had 
bribed her by his riches and his title, and for whom she 
had given up the man she really loved ; but to love him — 
she had never thought of it ; it had never entered into her 
calculations. He was to have her beauty, she was to have 
his money and his title. 

“Do you love me, Violet?” he demanded, angrily, and 
before she had time to speak a sudden conviction darted 
through her mind that she did not love him, and never 
should — a certain terrible conviction that, although she 
was married to this man, she loved Felix Lonsdale still. 

She trembled as she answered : 

“Yes, you know I love you, Owen.” 

She knew the words were false, but she was too fright- 
ened to say anything else. 

“I know you ought to love me,” he said, savagely, “but 


WEAKEB TEAK A WOAIAE. 


155 


there is no understanding a woman — fair dealing is not 
characteristic of the sex. Still I should not like to think 
that you married me for my money, and for nothing else. 
Did you, Violet?” 

She was not clever at lying, although she had broken a 
noble heart by her weakness. She had not the quick, ready 
fashion of speaking falsely which she acquired afterward. 
She buried her face in her hands ; it was easier to weep, 
after the weak fashion of women, than to speak. 

“ Nay, I did not mean to pain you, Violet,” he said. “ Do 
not cry. Still I should like to know that you love me. No 
man would like to think that his wife had married him for 
his money. ” 

After that little scene Lady Chevenix did not feel quite 
so sure of her husband, and began to stand a little in awe 
of him. 

The gay French capital might be as gay as it would be. 
Sir Owen would not remain. Invitations poured in upon 
him and his beautiful young wife — he would not accept 
them. One of his fixed resolves was to be in England at 
Christmas, and to England he was determined to go. In 
vain Violet pleaded that Garswood at Christmas would be 
dull. He laughed at the notion. 

“No place is ever dull where I am, Violet,” he cried. 
“ That shows how little you know me. I shall fill the place 
with visitors of my own choosing — and I promise you that 
we shall not spend our time in singing psalms. ” 

That was the first dissension between Violet and her hus- 
band. She would fain have remained longer, but Sir Owen 
was tired of Paris. He liked English sports, English 
habits, and English cheer. He was angry that Violet 
should for one moment presume to like Paris. It was un- 
heard of, he said, that any Englishwoman should find 
Christmas at home dull. And that was the first time that 
Violet saw him in a rage. He swore loudly — not at her — 
that was to come later on. He declared the whole race of 
women foolish and idiotic. He frightened her so that she 
was glad to escape from his presence, and give orders for 
the packing up. 

“ I am not my own mistress, after all, ” she said, with a 
discontented look on her fair face. “I cannot do as I like. 
I never dreamed that I should have a master. ” 

She did not like the idea. She had been so free and un- 
fettered all her life that it was new to her to be under con- 


156 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


trol. She had yet to learn that Sir Owen had the obstinacy 
of twenty men, and that when he had once set his mind 
upon anything he would carry it through. Her wishes, 
caprices, fancies, and desires Avould have about as much 
effect upon him as summer waves have upon a weather- 
beaten rock. 

She had a sample of this when they reached Calais on 
their return to England. It was not wet weather, but there 
had been a terrible gale, and the sea was rough. Violet 
was a bad sailor, and when she heard the surf beating 
on the shore she begged of her husband to delay their pas- 
sage at least twenty-four hours. She was so afraid, she 
said, of a rough sea. 

He laughed. It was all nonsense — the sea would not 
hurt her. No one ever heard of an accident to the Dover 
and Calais boats. 

She allowed that, but the passage made her very ill. 
Would he not wait? 

“ If you are ill, you will soon be well again ; the whole 
passage does not occupy two hours. You must bear it as 
other people do.” 

“ I did not think you could be so unkind to me, Owen, ” 
she said, piteously. 

“ I am not unkind ; but I warn you fairly that I have 
very little patience with the caprices of women. As for 
their other nonsense, I should never bear it. A man can- 
not be expected to go on honey-mooning forever. That kind 
of thing is all over now, and we may as well take our 
proper places. Mine is to be master — and I tell you quite 
frankly that I intend to be obeyed. Make up your mind to 
that, and we shall get along all right. Thwart me, and we 
shall not agree. ” 

They were not very pleasant words for a bride of only a 
few weeks to hear. She thought over them for some time. 

“ Felix would never have spoken to me in that fashion, ” 
she said to herself. “ But I must obey. There is no help 
for it — he is supreme master. ” 

She was very ill crossing the Channel, but Sir Owen only 
laughed. Sea-sickness was a sort of jest to him. He never 
dreamed that his young wife would resent the laughter, 
but she did. When they landed at Dover she would not 
speak to him. He might be master, she said to herself, a 
hundred times over, but no man should laugh at her. 

“You are sulking with me,” he said, laughingly. “Ah, 
my Lady Chevenix, you will find that a losing game ! I do 
not think there is a person in all England — or woman 


WEAKEn THAN A WOMAN 


157 


— who can sulk so long or so thoroughly as I can myself,” 
and that she found to be perfectly true. 

Neither of them had the faintest idea of self-control — it 
was a thing unknown to either of them — so they reached 
Gars wood without exchanging a word on the journey. 
Their coming home was quite unexpected, consequently 
there was no rejoicing. It was night, too, and cold. Sir 
Owen was not well pleased at their reception, although he 
had expressly forbidden any one to write. 

But Violet’s spirits rose again when she found herself in 
the magnificent mansion. After all, her husband might be 
coarse and bad-tempered, but she was mistress of those 
superb rooms. This was her house. She was to live in the 
midst of all this luxury, with troops of liveried servants at 
her call. Still she did not say to herself now that it was all 
hers. She was beginning to understand that for her every- 
thing depended on the humor of her husband. It was not 
all hers, but she was at liberty to enjoy it. She was so 
pleased that Sir Owen recovered his good-humor, and the 
first evening they spent together at Garswood was perhaps 
the happiest they ever had there. 

On the morrow Sir Owen found a hundred things that 
required his attention; nevertheless, he was thoughtful 
about his young wife. 

“You will like to see your mother and father, Violet,” he 
said. “ Order the carriage when you like. I cannot go 
with you, but I will come for you. You bought some pres- 
ents for them, did you not ?” 

“Yes,” she answered. 

She looked wistfully at him. It was her first visit since 
her marriage, and she would have liked him to be with 
her, but she was beginning to understand that she must 
not interfere with his arrangements. She could not resist 
saying : 

“ I should enjoy it so much more if you were with me, 
Owen. ” 

“Oh, no, you would not !” he laughed, carelessly. “You 
only fancy so. You and your mother will have so much to 
talk about that I really could not stand it, you know — I 
could not, indeed. I will be there in the evening, and 
will drive you back home.” 

She knew that to say more would be quite useless, so she 
made the best of the arrangement. After all, there were 
many delights before her. She had a superb costume, 
trimmed with costly sable — one of the great Worth’s mas- 
terpieces — and she was to wear that for the first time. Her 


158 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


heart beat as she thought of the pleasure of driving in her 
magnificent carriage through the streets of Lilford, dressed 
in her Parisian costume. 

“ I hope that I shall meet Lady Eolfe, ” she said, “ just 
for the pleasure of cutting her. ” 

She drove at once to the Limes, and was met with the 
kindest of welcomes. 

“I should have gone to meet you, Violet, had I known 
that you were coming, ” said Mrs. Haye. 

But Lady Chevenix thought that under the circumstances 
it was just as well she had not come. 

They went to the drawing-room together. Francis Haye 
was more of an invalid than usual that day, and his daugh- 
ter, on hearing that he was asleep, would not have him dis- 
turbed. 

“Let us have along talk, mamma,” she said. “I have 
so much to tell you.” 

They sat down to exchange confidences, and Mrs. Haye 
almost trembled with delight as she looked at her daugh- 
ter. 

“ How well you look, Violet !” she said. “ What a superb 
dress, and how it becomes you ! Are you very happy, my 
dear ?” 

“ As happy as other people, I suppose, mamma. I am 
very rich, and that must mean that I am very happy. It 
will take me a whole day to show you my dresses and jew- 
els.” 

“Will you stand up, Violet? I feel quite sure that you 
have grown, or is it the new style of dress that suits you ?” 

Violet stood up. 

“I have grown, mamma,” she answered. “You know I 
am only just twenty ; I may grow taller still.” 

“You are quite tall enough to be graceful, my dear,” said 
Mrs. Haye, and her eyes lingered proudly on the lovely 
face with its dainty bloom, so young, so fresh and fair, and 
on the graceful figure that was shown to such advantage 
by the costly dress that swept the ground. “You have im- 
proved very much, Violet,” she added. 

In that she was right ; Violet had a grace and refinement 
that gave her an additional charm. 

They talked long and not unhappily. Presently Violet 
produced her presents. Mrs. Haye went into a rapture 
about a dress of Genoa velvet and some superb Mechlin 
lace. After that Violet began to inquire about her old 
friends. 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. 159 

Mrs. Haye had many little facts to relate about all of 
them. 

“ Mamma, ” said Lady Chevenix, with a slight flush on 
her face, “ what do they say in Lilford about my marriage 
and me 

“ What can they say, my dear ? Every one envies you, 
every one talks about your wonderful marriage. ” 

Violet took up the rich tassels of her dress and played 
with them. She never raised her eyes to her mother’s face. 

“ But do they — I mean, have they said that I did wrong ?” 

“Wrong !” cried Mrs. Haye. “Why should they? Which 
of them would not have done the same thing ? Which of 
them would not- be pleased to do the same wrong?” 

Lady Chevenix looked relieved. 

“ I was afraid they would say I had acted unfairly, ” she 
said, slowly. “ Mamma, how are the Lonsdales ? How is 
Felix ?” 

There was a brief silence before the question was an- 
swered, and then Mrs. Haye told her wonderful story. 

“You have never heard of such a change of fortune, Vio- 
let, ” she said ; “ it is almost as wonderful as your own ; I 
can hardly understand it. The Lonsdales seem to have all 
the business of the town now, and of the county, too. They 
have — I cannot tell how many clerks ; they give grand din- 
ner-parties ; and, what seems to me stranger still, they are 
frequently invited to Bramber Towers. ” 

“We shall visit there, I suppose,” remarked Lady Cheve- 
nix. “ I am very pleased, indeed, to hear all this, mamma ; 
if any family ever did deserve good fortune they did. They 
are recognized by the county now, I suppose ?” 

“Yes, quite. Lady Eolfe has taken them up. I hear 
nothing but the Lonsdales. ” 

There was silence again for some minutes, and then Vio- 
let said, slowly : 

“ And Felix, mamma — have you seen him since my mar- 
riage ?” 

“No, not once, my dear,” was Mrs. Haye’s reply. “I 
need hardly say that he has never been here. ” 

“ Do they say — do you know, if he thought much of it ? 
Did he make a great trouble of it, mamma ?” she asked. 

“ I cannot say, ” replied the cautious mother ; “ I have 
never heard the subject mentioned.” 

Lady Chevenix was silent again. After a while she said, 
quickly : 

“ I should like to ask you one question more. Does Felix 
— has he found any one else to care about yet ?” 


160 


WEAKER THAN A WOAIAN. 


“I have not heard so. Violet, my dear, you have every 
blessing the world can give ; do not think about him. And, 
if you will take my advice, you will not talk about him — 
Sir Owen might not like it. ” 

“ I shall be careful, mamma — I shall not speak of him ; 
but I wanted to hear about him just once.” 

She said no more then, but as she sat in the familiar room 
she thought a great deal of him — it was impossible to help 
it. The quick eyes noted how completely every trace of 
him had been removed ; the books that he had given her, 
the pictures, were all gone. 

“ They need not have banished everything,” she said to 
herself. 

Presently her father awoke ; he was delighted beyond 
measure to see her looking so well and so beautiful. 

Later on Sir Owen came, and they spent a pleasant hour 
together. But there was a dreamy look on the lovely face, 
a softened light in the clear eyes ; she could not help think- 
ing of the past bright, girlish life that had been so simply 
happy. Felix had been part of that life, and she could 
not help remembering him when she thought of it. 

She enjoyed herself, she laughed and talked, she told gay 
anecdotes of her triumphs in Paris, but, as she quitted the 
house, she carefully avoided going near the bare lilac 
bushes, or lingering for a moment at the garden gate. As 
she drove home she said to herself : 

“ I do not think I shall go to the Limes very often. After 
all, the pain is as great as the pleasure. ” 

But she did not own what the pain was. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

SIR OWEN’S MOODS. 

During the next few days Lady Chevenix was occupied 
in arranging all the beautiful ornaments, pictures, and 
statues she had brought with her from abroad. She had 
her own apartments to arrange ; she had to superintend 
the putting away of the superb garments that she had pur- 
chased in Paris, of all the things she had brought with her 
from her home. Among the treasures of her girlhood was 
a small rosewood writing-desk. On it she had written all 
her love-letters ; in it she kept every love-letter she had re- 
ceived, and she rememebred now that she had not de- 
stroyed them before her marriage, and that she ought to 
have done so. She was alone in the sumptuous room that 


weakeh than a woman. lei 

was her boudoir — a room hung with blue silk and lace, 
which had a rich carpet and magnificent furniture of ebony 
and blue satin ; costly pictures lined the walls, rare flowers 
stood in beautiful jardinieres. The apartment was perfect 
in its way, and the golden-haired girl who stood in it looked 
like a fitting occupant. 

She took out a little key and opened the desk. How well 
she remembered the perfume of violets — the faint, sweet 
perfume that she had always liked so much. There lay the 
great bundle of letters tied with blue ribbon — letters on 
which a life of love and passion had been wasted ; there, 
too, lay the portrait that Felix had given her when he came 
home from college — a portrait that had seemed to her one 
of the finest works of art. She would not open the letters ; 
it would be folly to irritate old wounds. She would burn 
them ; she ought to have burned them before her marriage, 
but her mind had been in such a whirl then she had not 
thought of it. 

She went to the fire-place and stirred the fire into a 
bright flame. She had not thought what she was about to 
do would pain her — it had seemed *an easy thing to burn 
old letters, but when she placed the first bundle in the 
midst of the flames, it seemed to her that she was burning 
a living thing. Alas for the love wasted in them, the pas- 
sion, the pathos ! It seemed to her that she was torturing 
Felix again ; the hiss of the flames was like a reproachful 
voice. Still it must be done. One after another she threw 
them all in, until the last was destroyed. By that time 
the color had died from her face, and her hands trembled. 

Then she came to the portrait ; of course she must de- 
stroy it. And what was that folded so carefully in the 
tissue-paper near it ? A spray of lilac, withered and dead. 
She remembered the day and the hour when it had been 
gathered. She took the portrait in her hands : there could 
be no harm in looking at it for the last time. The noble, 
handsome, frank young face — how she had loved it once. 
How those eyes had watched her — how those lips had 
kissed and worshiped her ! It must go. She looked at it 
intently for a few minutes, and then she held it over the 
flames, but she could not destroy it — she could not see 
the flames leaping round that face. It was impossible. 
She wrapped up the portrait quickly, and locked it out of 
sight. 

White and breathless with emotion, her hands trembling, 
her heart beating, she looked up suddenly as her husband 
entered the room. 


162 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


“What are you doing, Violet?” he cried. “Are you ill? 
You look as if you had seen a ghost.” 

“I have seen one,” she replied, slowly. 

“ What have you been burning ? The grate is full of 
burned paper.” 

She looked at him with wistful eyes. Their expression 
did not please him. 

“ I have been burning all the old letters I found in my 
writing-desk,” she replied. 

Perhaps she had an idea that he would say something 
kind to her, but he laughed contemptuously. 

“ What sentimental simpletons women are ! Are you 
going to keep that shabby little desk here ? It spoils the 
room,” he said. 

“I thought it quite a grand piece of furniture once,” she 
replied. 

“Did you? Your ideas have altered on many subjects, 
no doubt. I came to ask you to ride out with me.” 

Her head ached with repressed emotion, but she dared 
not refuse. She had learned one lesson already, and that 
was that she must keep her husband in a good humor if 
possible. Now that the novelty and restraint of her pres- 
ence were wearing off a little, he was beginning to indulge 
in fits of temper that startled her. She dressed and went 
out with him. 

“ Why do you always select the Oldstone Eoad ?” she 
asked him. 

“Because I like Oldstone far better than Lilford. Most 
of my property lies in Oldstone. I intend to go to Oldstone 
Church when I go to church at all, and I shall patronize 
Oldstone generally.” 

A painful sense of disappointment stole over her, but she 
dared not express her feelings. She had pictured herself, 
in all the pride of her new state, rustling in her costly silk 
up the old-fashioned aisle of the dear old church at Lilford, 
to which all her old friends went. She would have liked 
to see Felix again, to see how he looked and whether he 
had altered. She wondered what he would think of her 
in her new grandeur, and felt curious as to where and how 
they would meet. Then she remembered their terrible part- 
ing, and said to herself that she must not think of him. 

She never saw him. She went several times to Lilford — 
more than once she drove past Vale House, but she never 
saw him. Then Garswood filled with guests, and her time 
was no longer her own. She ought to have been perfectly 
happy. She was mistress of the most magnificent home in 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


163 


the county ; she had every luxury that money could pur- 
chase ; she was feted ^ admired, flattered ; she received un- 
wonted homage. The local papers were full of descriptions 
of the gayeties and amusements going on at Garswood, 
and gave a list of the fashionable visitors gathered there, 
and every now and then came some reference to the great 
beauty of Lady Chevenix. The ladies of the neighborhood, 
reading this, looked at each other in wonder, as though 
they would have said, “ Can this be the girl we knew as 
Violet Haye?” 

For Lady Chevenix held up her head with the highest 
among them. She never ignored the past — she spoke of it 
without hesitation ; she talked of her home, the Limes, of 
her parents, of all her old Lilford friends, with the excep- 
tion of the Lonsdale s, whom she appeared to have quite 
forgotten. But though she never named them she thought 
of them, and when she read the brilliant account of all the 
festivities, she knew that Felix would read the same, that 
he would hear them talked about. One thing she did won- 
der at, and that was why he had never contrived to see her. 
She had imagined that he would make some effort, but he 
had made none. Christmas came and went ; the snow- 
drops and the crocuses came, the blue violets peeped out, 
and the desire of her heart was given to Lady Chevenix. 
She went to London and made her dehut at court. 

Then it seemed to her that she had reached the climax of 
all happiness and grandeur. Sir Owen possessed a hand- 
some mansion in Belgravia, and the season they spent in 
town was one long scene of uninterrupted gayety and ex- 
citement. Young, surpassingly beautiful, graceful. Lady 
Chevenix soon won a place for herself in the highest and 
most exclusive circle. She was idolized ; her wealth, her 
diamonds, her superb mansion, her grand parties, were 
subjects of public comment. But after a time she found 
that, although she was liked and flattered, her husband was 
simply detested. No one seemed to care for him ; his man- 
ners were so coarse that when she contrasted him with 
other men of his own rank and position she was ashamed 
of him ; she read intense dislike and aversion to him in the 
faces of the people whom she liked best and of whom she 
most approved. Thoughtless, laughing young men said to 
her : 

“ Come without your husband, or we shall not enjoy our- 
selves. ” 

When she particularly pressed any lady to come to see 
her for some special purpose the answer always was : 


164 WEAKER THAN A WOAIAN 

“Well, tell me when you will be quite alone, and I will 
come. ” 

She found that Sir Owen and herself were seldom invited 
twice to the same place, and it dawned upon her very 
slowly that she should never be what she aspired to be, a 
queen of society, because she had a drawback in the shape 
of her own husband. She was slow in reaching that con- 
clusion, but it was a correct one, and she studied him, to 
find out, if she could, how it was that he made himself so 
odious, so disliked. 

She could not deny that his face was dark and almost 
sinister-looking, that his manner and carriage were awk- 
ward, that he had an unpleasant voice ; the outward ap- 
pearance of the man was, however, the best part of him. 
No one could have called him a gentleman ; he was selfish 
and brutal, and so egotistical that in company no person 
ever had a chance of speaking but himself. He had two 
moods — he was either familiar and boasted until every 
man present felt a great desire to put him out of the room, 
or he was so sullen that to look at him was like looking at 
a great black cloud. That was Sir Gwen in his sober mo- 
ments, but, as the novel restraint of his young wife’s pres- 
ence wore off, he fell more frequently into his old fatal 
habit of drinking. 

At first he carefully concealed it from her, for in his 
coarse fashion he loved her. A woman of more noble soul 
perhaps would have made a better man of him — would have 
helped him to overcome his bad habits and acquire good 
ones. The woman who had married him, not for love, but 
simply for his money, had but one thought — it was to keep 
him in a good temper while it was feasible, and when it 
was not to kee'“ out of his way. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

FACE TO FACE. - 

The season was over, and Sir Owen and Lady Chevenix 
were expected at Garswood. By that time Sir Owen, to 
use his own expression, was himself again ; the novelty 
and restraint of his new life had worn off, all his natural 
characteristics were in full play, and there were times 
when his young wife wished herself dead. She was not 
often driven to such despair, but occasionally he was 
terrible. As a whole she enjoyed her life. She had money 
and everything that she wished for ; she enjoyed her mag- 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


165 


nificent home, with all its attendant luxuries ; she was by 
universal consent queen of the county. 

For some time there was ill-will between herself and 
Lady Rolfe. She did not wish to ask either that lady or 
her daughter Lavinia to Garswood, but after a few words 
from her husband she was compelled to give way. She had 
the good sense to make the best of it, and Lady Eolfe 
became a frequent visitor at Garswood. 

During all this time Violet had never once seen Felix. 
She had heard of him continually — he was rising rapidly in 
the world. She heard old Colonel Eiddell speak of him 
one evening when she, with Sir Owen, went over to a for- 
mal and stately dinner-party at Lady Eolfe ’s. 

“Mark my words,” said the colonel, “the leading man in 
this part of the world is, or very soon will be, young Felix 
Lonsdale, the lawyer’s son. I have watched him with in- 
terest. He will be a leader yet. He acts as the earl’s agent 
now, and Lord Arlington has implicit confidence in him. I 
prophesy that with the earl’s interest he will be returned 
as member for the borough, and that once in Parliament 
we shall hear of him. ” 

One or two others agreed with the colonel. The face of 
Lady Chevenix grew crimson when she heard her husband 
give a little insulting, sneering laugh. She saw with dread 
that he had drank too much wine. 

“ I have beaten him once, ” said Sir Owen, “ and I will 
beat him again ; if he goes in for one interest I will go in 
for the other. ” 

For his wife’s sake no one answered him, and Lady Eolfe 
gave the signal for the ladies to withdraw. 

“ I shall never go out to dine again if I have to meet that 
man, ” said the old colonel, who was an aristocrat de pur 
sang. “ Such men ought all to be shot. What could that 
lovely woman have been thinking of to marry him ?” — for 
the colonel was far above the scandal and gossip of the 
neighborhood, none of it was ever brought to him. 

So there were times in her brilliant, luxurious life when 
Lady Chevenix was weary of it all, and longed to see the 
face of a true friend. She had called on Eve Lester, but 
Eve had declined to see her, and “Aunt Jane” had been 
rampant on the occasion. 

Lady Chevenix sat in the best parlor at the Outlands, 
looking very lovely, dressed in sheeny silk and marvelous 
lace, when the elder lady came in to her, more- erect and 
uncompromising than ever. 

“My niece declines to see you, Lady Chevenix,” she said. 


166 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


“ and I think she is quite right. You jilted our best friend, 
and, naturally enough, we take his side. Do not call again 
— Eve does not care to know you. ” 

Perhaps in all her life Lady Chevenix had never felt so 
humiliated. There was no polite disguise about the re- 
mark, no conventional vail. “She had jilted their best 
friend, and they did not care to know her. ” Even Evelyn 
cried out in wonder when she heard what her aunt had 
said. 

“No half truths for me,” said that uncompromising lady. 
“If every one told the truth this would be a different 
world. ” 

Never had Lady Chevenix felt so humbled ; even her 
magnificent carriage seemed to have grown small and in- 
significant when she returned to it ; while the very ser- 
vants seemed to know that she had been treated with scorn 
and contumely. She had hoped to have heard something 
of Felix from Evelyn, but, if Eve would not see her, why, 
there was an end of it. 

She had not encountered her old lover once. She wished 
very much to see him. Why should they not be friends ? 
She had no desire for anything more than the most com- 
mon form of friendship. She remembered his bright, sunny 
temper, his sweet smile, his wonderful good humor, his 
cheerful presence. She felt that it would be a comfort and 
a pleasure to see him at times after the sullen silence that 
often lasted for days — to hear a few bright words. She 
found herself often wondering when and where she should 
meet him again. At last the time came. 

Lady Maude Bramber had been absent from home for 
some few days, and during that time the earl had sent out 
invitations for a dinner-party. If he and his countess had 
heard anything of the love-story of Felix and Violet, they 
had completely forgotten it. The earl sent out the invita- 
tions, and one went to Garswood for Sir Owen and Lady 
Chevenix, and one to Felix Lonsdale. Lord Arlington very 
seldom had a large dinner-party now without inviting 
Felix ; his brilliant conversational powers made him a 
most welcome guest. 

“Felix is a host in himself,” the earl would say, laugh- 
ingly. 

He had not the faintest idea, when he sent out his invita- 
tions, of having done wrong. Lady Maude, to whom Felix 
had revealed his love-story, did not return until the day of 
the dinner-party, and then it was too late to send a note or 
message anywhere, 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


167 


“They must meet some time,” she said to herself, in dis- 
may ; “ perhaps it will be better here than elsewhere. I 
shall be at hand to help him if he requires help. ” 

She said nothing to any one, but awaited the course of 
events. 

The dinner was given in honor of Lord Eayden, a great 
statesman, who was visiting the earl, and Lord Arlington 
was both pleased and proud to introduce his young and 
gifted protege to his friend. Colonel Riddell was invited — 
he would not have gone had he known that he was to meet 
Sir Owen, whom he detested — also Lady Rolfe, her daugh- 
ter Lavinia, and several other friends. 

It was a warm day, and the green shade of the foliage all 
about Bramber Towers was cool and inviting. The dinner 
hour was fixed for seven. 

“ There is no keeping people indoors on these fine sum- 
mer nights, ” said the earl, “ so we may as well be pre- 
pared to spend the evening out-of-doors.” 

Lady Maude only hoped the evening would pass as pleas- 
antly as her father seemed to anticipate. She alone knew 
what rival interests would be at play. She would have 
been better pleased had there been time to send a messen- 
ger to Felix to tell him who were to be present, but there 
was not time. She resolved to dress early and wait for 
him. He should not be seen to disadvantage. She knew 
that he was coming early ; he had some papers that her 
father wished to see, and they had arranged it so. 

Lady Maude was the first in the drawing-room, and, to 
her great delight, Felix came in soon afterward. She was 
wonderfully proud of him. As Lady Maude looked at him 
she thought to herself that there could not be a finer, hand- 
somer, or nobler-looking man in England than he was. 

There was a warm friendship between the two. Felix 
would have done anything in the world for the noble, beau- 
tiful woman who had seemed to him like an angel of com- 
fort in the darkest hour of his life ; he had the greatest 
reverence, the greatest esteem for her ; he knew that he 
owed all his good fortune to her kindly influence y^ith the 
earl. And Lady Maude was very fond of him. She 
watched his career with pride and hope ; she had a feeling 
almost of proprietorship in him, but for her he might have 
gone to the bad. So now she waited for him, and, when he 
had spoken a few words of greeting to her, she said : 

“ I was waiting for you, Mr. Lonsdale ; I have something 
to tell you. I know you are a brave man ; this evening I 
shall see your bravery put to a severe test. ” 


168 


WEAKM THAN A WOMAN, 


He could not imagine what she meant, but he said that 
he hoped whatever might be the test she would not find 
him wanting. 

“I have no fear as to that,” she said, earnestly. “Mr. 
Lonsdale, I want to tell you that Lady Chevenix will be 
here this evening. Papa made up his list of invitations 
during my absence, and I could do nothing. ” 

She was glad that they were alone. His face grew white 
as death — so white that she was alarmed ; he stood quite 
still, and she saw his hands tremble. She talked on that 
he might have time to recover himself. 

“ I would have prevented it had it been possible, but it 
was not. You have never seen her since her marriage, 
and I am told that she has grown doubly beautiful. Still, 
if you do not feel equal to meeting her, you shall not. ” 

She saw the great effort that he made to recover himself. 
He succeeded ; the color returned to his face ; he stilled 
the trembling of his hands ; he smiled as he answered her : 

“You are so good to me. Lady Maude, that I am at a 
loss how to thank you for giving me this warning. I 
needed it. If I had met Lady Chevenix suddenly I should 
have been terribly embarrassed ; now I am master of my- 
self.” 

“ And will keep so ?” said Lady Maude, earnestly. 

“ And will keep so, ” he repeated. 

Then the countess joined them, and presently one or two 
more entered the room. 

“Look,” said Lady Maude, as she touched Felix’s arm 
gently. 

He looked in the direction indicated and beheld Violet, 
so changed from the lovely laughing girl who had kissed 
him and quarreled with him twenty times in an hour that 
he hardly recognized her. This was an imperially beauti- 
ful woman, on whose white breast and white arms shone 
jewels worth a king’s ransom — a woman whose face was so 
peerlessly lovely that it dazzled one as did the light of the 
sun. 

Violet wore one of the triumphs of "art that she had 
brought with her from Paris ; and nothing could have been 
devised to enhance her loveliness more. Her dress was 
composed of some pale green fabric, soft and shining, cov- 
ered with clouds of white lace looped up with water-lilies, 
and in her golden hair nestled a delicate, wax-like camellia. 
She wore a parure of diamonds and emeralds. Her white 
shoulders and well-molded arms helped to compose a pic- 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


169 


ture that no man could have seen without feeling his heart 
beat the quicker for it. 

Lord Arlington went forward to meet her. Like a foil 
to her bright and radiant loveliness, her dark-browed hus- 
band stood by her side. 

“You are right,” said Felix to Lady Maude ; “she is a 
thousand times more beautiful. ” 

Lady Chevenix did not notice Lady Maude Bramber 
leave his side and go up to her. When she had exchanged 
a few words with her, she said : 

“An old friend of yours. Lady Chevenix, is here this 
evening.” And once more the two who had parted so 
tragically stood face to face. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

THE MEETING IN THE GARDEN. 

Once more Violet and Felix Lonsdale stood face to face. 
They looked at each other for a moment in silence. To 
Felix there came back with a keen, bitter pain the memory 
of his passionate farewell ; to Violet there came the sud- 
den, keen conviction that she was looking at the face of 
the only man she had ever cared for. Lady Maude Arling- 
ton, much as she disliked the brilliant young beauty, felt 
pleased, after bringing the two together, that she had 
screened Lady Chevenix from observation, for she trembled 
— her face flushed crimson, and then grew white. 

Felix was the first to speak. He did not hold out his 
hands in greeting ; he simply bowed and murmured some 
few commonplace words. 

“ I am very pleased to see you, ” said Lady Chevenix, 
and the words had a ring of truth that touched both listen- 
ers. 

With her usual smiling grace Lady Maude said : 

“We have a little time to spare — would you like to look 
at these photographs ? They are quite new, and finer than 
anything I have yet seen. ” 

They sat all three round one of the pretty little tables 
that were covered with pictures and books. Lady Cheve- 
nix turned to Felix again. 

“I should like to see your father and Mrs. Lonsdale,” she 
said. “ Are they well ?” 

“ They are quite well, ” he told her, but he made no re- 
sponse to her desire of seeing them. 

“ He does not care at all about seeing me,” she thought ; 


170 


WEAKEB THAN A WOMAN 


“ he does not seem in the least degree agitated or embar- 
rassed — he has forgotten me,” and, as the thought came to 
her, her eyes filled with tears. “He never could have 
cared so very much for me,” she said to herself ; “he could 
not really have grieved about losing me. ” 

She looked at him — he was talking in a lively and ani- 
mated strain to Lady Maude. She wondered to herself if 
this calm, proud, handsome man, so perfectly well-bred, 
so self-possessed, talking so brilliantly to the earl’s daugh- 
ter — if this could really be the same ardent, despairing 
young lover who had bidden her a passionate farewell. He 
was in no hurry to talk to her. She had rather pictured 
herself as having to hint something like prudence to him ; 
she could have laughed at herself for the notion. 

He did not look at her ; she doubted even whether he had 
noted her rich dress, her shining jewels. When she spoke 
he replied with polite indifference,' with well-bred calm- 
ness, but he never once voluntarily addressed her. It was 
all so different from what she had pictured that she ex- 
perienced a strange sense of depression. 

Lady Maude was compelled to leave them for a few min- 
utes, and then Lady Chevenix turned to Felix. 

“ How strange ik seems that we should meet here, ” she 
said. 

“Yes, it is strange,” he replied. “I am very often here 
on business — you, I presume, come equally often on pleas- 
ure ?” 

“It is my first visit,” she said, but he did not ask the 
reason of that. 

“ How cold, how indifferent, he is to me I” she remarked 
to herself. “No one would ever think even that we had 
been friends. If he would say something reproachful it 
would be better than this. ” 

But there was no thought of reproach in him. He spoke 
to her with a smile. He neither sought her nor avoided 
her. His conduct was such that she might have been a 
stranger whom he had met for the first time. Then came 
the signal for dinner, and Lady Chevenix was a little sur- 
prised to find that Felix took down Lady Maude. She went 
down with the earl, and Sir Owen escorted Lavinia Rolfe. 
Violet was so placed at the table that she could see and hear 
all that passed. 

Never in her life had the beautiful Lady Chevenix felt 
so surprised. She had always heard Felix spoken of as 
being clever and gifted, but she had never dreamed that he 
was really the genius he was. When with her he had sel- 


WEAKm TEAET A W02fAl{, 


m 


dom spoken of anything but herself and his great love for 
her. Now, for the first time, she heard him converse with 
intellectual men, who all seemed to look up to him as 
their superior. She was astounded. The great statesman. 
Lord Eayden, talked much to him, and the earl asked his 
opinion. 

“ It does me good, ” said Lord Eayden, “ to hear such 
ideas as yours, they are so thoroughly fresh, clever, and 
original. We must have you on our side. You must not 
go over to the enemy.” 

Felix had a natural wit that made his conversation 
piquant and amusing. Lord Arlington delighted in it. 
When any playful attack was made on himself he would 
look at him and say : 

“ I shall leave you to answer that, Mr. Lonsdale. ” 

The dinner was a complete success. It was a new thing 
to Lady Chevenix, intellectual conversation such as she 
was listening to. She looked once at her husband, and 
she saw him gazing with undisguised admiration at Felix. 

Sir Owen said little. He had ideas of his own ; one was 
that talking at dinner-time was a bore rather than not ; 
people sat down to eat, not to talk. He certainly did not 
contribute much to the general entertainment. He dined 
well, and more than once Violet felt something like dismay, 
as she saw how the wineglasses before him were replen- 
isheci. She could not help contrasting the two men, nor 
was she the only one present who did so. Felix was so 
bright, so handsome, so animated, so gifted and intellec- 
tual ; he was a leader of conversation even among older 
and wiser men than himself, for he had the gift of pictur- 
esque language. Sir Owen, coarse and heavy, his brain 
dulled with constant drinking, speaking little, but, when 
he did speak, saying something almost disagreeable, was 
doltish and inert, except when he was offensive. There 
could have been no greater contrast — and Lady Chevenix 
saw it. To herself she thought how Felix would be appre- 
ciated and understood in London, how eagerly he would be 
sought — who would care to remember that he was the son 
of a country lawyer ? Such men make their own mark. 
Where her husband would not be tolerated, Felix would 
be received y^ith open arms. 

All these observations she made to herself, as she sat by 
Lord Arlington, her beautiful face wreathed with smiles. 
The last words she heard, as the ladies quitted the dining- 
room, were from Lord Eayden. 

^ “ The next time you run up to London, Mr. Lonsdale,” he 


172 


WEAKER THAN A ^OMAN, 


was saying, “ pray come and see me ; I shall be delighted 
if you do, and I will show you the very article in the news- 
paper of which we are speaking. ” 

And in her own mind Lady Chevenix thought that such 
a thing as an invitation from the eminent statesman would 
be an honor Sir Owen would never attain. 

The gentlemen did not linger long over their wine. Lord 
Arlington saw that Sir Owen was inclined to drink freely ; 
he made a note in his own mind that it should be some 
time at least before that gentleman dined with him again. 

As his lordship had foreseen, the outdoor attractions 
proved too much for the younger guests. The earl himself 
and Lord Eayden sat down to chess ; Lady Arlington, Lady 
Rolfe, Colonel Eiddell, and Sir Owen made up a whist- 
table ; Lavinia went to the piano ; Lady Maude distributed 
her attentions equally, and most of the younger people 
went out through the long open windows on to the wide 
terrace. 

The evening was fragrant, calm, and sweet ; far away 
under the trees the glow-worms were beginning to shine, a 
nightingale was singing in the gardens, the faint ripple of 
fountains filled the air, the rich odor of roses and lilies 
ascended like a cloud of perfume. 

One by one the guests went out. Some descended the 
terrace-steps into the rose gardens below ; some admirefi. 
the tints in the west left by the sunset, leaning over the 
stone balustrades ; others wandered into the beautiful 
grounds. Lady Maude walked for a short time with Felix, 
and then she looked up at him with a smile. 

“You can amuse yourself,” she said ; “you are a man of 
resource. I must go to that unhappy young lordling who 
is feebly trying to talk to Miss Lloyd. ” 

She left him, and Felix turned down a broad path where 
the acacia trees were in full bloom. Lady Chevenix saw 
him, and followed him. She had been longing for the 
chance of speaking a few words to him, and it had come at 
last. He was startled when a shadow fell over his path 
and a sweet voice said : 

“ Felix — Mr. Lonsdale— will you be friends with me ?” 

He turned round in amazement. Violet stood before 
him, looking as lovely as a vision, her silk dr^ss and rich 
lace trailing around her, her beauty deepened because over 
her white neck and shoulders she had thrown a silvery 
vail ; it fell from her golden head, shadowing the fair face. 

“ I have alarmed you,” 'she said; “you were not think- 
ing of me.” 


weaker than a woman 


173 


“ I am afraid, to use a lawyer’s phrase, that is a true in- 
dictment, ” he replied. “ Lady Chevenix, I must plead guilty. 

I was thinking of Lord Eayden. ” 

“ And I was thinking of you, ” she said, gently. 

“You are very kind,” he returned, indifterently. “Lord 
Rayden is quite a new type of man to me ; I have seen no 
one like him. ” 

They were walking down the path together now — he had 
been compelled to follow, as she led. The white acacia 
blossoms fell on them ; the evening breeze was full of 
sweetness. Lady Chevenix turned to him with her old 
graceful impetuosity. 

“ I do not want to talk about Lord Rayden. I do not care 
to hear about him ; I want to hear of you. ” 

“You are very kind,” he said again, with a polite bow. 

She stamped her little foot on the ground impatiently. 

“Do not be so polite to me,” she cried, and then she 
seemed suddenly to remember herself. “ I beg your pardon, 
Felix,” she said, “but I want to know if you will be 
friends with me ?” 

“I do not understand you. Lady Chevenix,” he replied, 
and she knew there was nothing but indifferent wonder in 
his voice. 

“You do not understand? You must understand. A 
child would know what I meant. Will you be friends with 
me?” 

She stood still as she asked him the question, and looked 
up at him with wistful eyes. In the half-golden light her 
face shone out clear and pure as a star. She held out her 
hand to him. 

“Will you be friends?” she repeated, and this time her 
lip quivered. 

He did not touch the hand she held out to him. He had 
bidden farewell to those hands — their least touch was no 
longer for him. 

“ Do you mean, Lady Chevenix, to ask me if I will be 
your friend ? I do not see that that is possible — you forget 
the difference in our positions. ” 

“You are Lady Maude’s friend,” she interrupted. 

“Yes, that is natural. I have business relations with 
Lady Maude’s father. It is quite a different matter. There 
never can be much friendship, I think, between people of 
different positions. ” 

The tears stood in her eyes. 

“I did not think you could have spoken so to me,” she 
said. 


174 


weaker than a woman. 


“ I am unfortunate if I have spoken impolitely or ab- 
ruptly, ” he returned. “ Friendship is to me a very sacred 
thing — I never lightly use the word — and I cannot but say 
that for Lady Chevenix of Garswood and a very hard- 
working lawyer there can be no common ground. ” 

“ I have known you all my life, ” she said. 

He looked at her. He did not speak. It seemed to him 
that further speech would be imprudent. Her eyes fell be- 
fore the clear, honest gaze ; there was no reproach in it, 
no upbraiding, but it reached the depths of her soul. 

They came to the end of the path ; he did not turn back. 
There was a garden-chair ; she sat down upon it, and he 
passed on with a low bow. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

THE LONSDALES’ DECISION. 

Lady Chevenix and Felix Lonsdale did not meet again 
for some time. Sir Owen had not made a very favorable 
impression at Bramber Towers. The earl had invited him, 
with his beautiful young wife, to a grand ball, but Felix 
was not present, and Sir Owen forgot himself so far as to 
drink too much, and then, when intoxicated, to use coarse 
language. 

In September Sir Owen was invited to be present at a 
grand political banquet given at Oldstone, and Felix made 
one of the most telling speeches of the night. It was so 
eloquent, so magnificent in its true, noble ideas, its pictur- 
esque language, that he became popular ; a man who could 
speak so well ought to be in Parliament, the leaders said, 
and it seemed very probable that at the next election Felix 
would stand an excellent chance. 

Sir Owen was startled ; he thought a great deal about 
“ young Lonsdale. ” With all his own dense stupidity, he 
was capable of admiring great talent in others. Another 
thing struck him. During the banquet he sat next to Cap- 
tain Hill, who told him that he had heard Lord Arlington 
say that the wisest action of his life was the placing of his 
affairs in the hands of Darcy and Felix Lonsdale. Sir Owen 
thought a great deal of that ; a good, clever, trustworthy 
land agent was a person he had long desired above all 
others, and, if the Lonsdales served Lord Arlington so 
faithfully they would perhaps serve him in a like manner. 
He thought over it some days before he mentioned the sub- 
ject to his wife. 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


175 


He knew that he was deficient in business capacity. In 
his sober and most sensible moments he owned that. 
Study — learning of any kind — had always been irksome to 
him. He never had read anything but the daily news- 
papers, and some of the sporting prints ; he could not write 
a letter properly, and he had just sense sufficient to know 
his own shortcomings. 

One morning he received a number of letters that, puz- 
zled him — some documents that he could not understand 
were sent for him to sign. 

“ A man may sign his whole fortune away without know- 
ing it, ” he said. “ I wish I had some clever man to see to 
it all for me. Arlington has none of this trouble, I know. ” 

Lady Chevenix, in her graceful morning costume, sat 
opposite to him. They had just finished breakfast, and 
that was, as a rule, his most amiable hour. He looked up 
at hi^ wife suddenly ; he had never consulted her on any 
business before, and would not have done so now but that 
she knew the Lonsdales. 

“Violet,” he said, “what a clever man that young Lons- 
dale is ! He is making quite a good position for himself. I 
should not be surprised to hear of his getting into Parlia- 
ment. ” 

He did not notice the flush on her face or her agitation. 
She did not know what answer to make — she dared not say 
she was glad. Sir Owen did not want an answer. He 
went on : 

“ I have been thinking of asking him to be my land- 
agent ; they say he does so well for Arlington. I really 
cannot grapple with all these matters myself ; and he seems 
to be the only man about here who has a head worth 
carrying on his shoulders. I wonder if he would undertake 
it if I asked him, Violet?” 

“I cannot tell — I do not know,” she replied. 

“ But you must ; surely you have some idea — you have 
known them a long time. What do you think ?” 

“ I should say the Lonsdales would be very pleased ; they 
ought to be. You would pay them well, of course ?” 

“I should be quite willing to give five hundred a year, 
but then I should expect all my work done for that. I pay 
almost as much as that now in one way or another. . I 
think I shall go and see them about it, Violet.” 

“It would be the wisest plan,” she said. 

“Young Lonsdale has not shown any great anxiety to 
visit us,” he continued, with a sneering laugh. “Perhaps 


176 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


he has not quite forgiven me about you — eh, Violet? — 
though he did not seem to care about it. ” 

“ He has forgotten all that nonsense,” said Violet. “ I do 
not believe he remembers even that we were friends. ” 

“ So much the better. I shall call to-day and see them. 
If young Lonsdale consents, I will make him come and 
dine with us. He dines often enough at Bramber Towers. 

I hope he will consent. I thought of traveling next year, 
and I should enjoy my tour much better if I left him in 
command.” 

“ I hope you will succeed, ” she replied, and she did hope 
so ; she would have been glad of anything that would have 
forced Felix into her society. She was lonely in spite of 
all her grandeur, and there were times when she was dread- 
fully tired. 

It was hard work to live with Sir Owen ; she had to 
watch him incessantly to study his humors, to obey him 
readily ; she had less real liberty than the wife of many 
a poor peasant. She would be so pleased and so content if 
she could see Felix sometimes — not that she wanted any 
allusion even to their former acquaintance, but she never 
knew what that sweet sunny presence of his had been to 
her life until it had passed out of it. 

If they could meet sometimes, and laugh as they used to 
laugh over all. the little comic scenes and sensations Lilford 
afforded, if she could talk to him of some of the thoughts 
and ideas that began to crowd upon her mind and brain, 
she would be well pleased ; there was always a sense of 
something wanting, something missing, in her life. So she 
hoped that he would consent to act as Sir Owen’s agent. 
Surely she should see him occasionally. 

Her husband was not a pleasant companion, and at times, 
when her nerves and patience were overtaxed, she would 
go to her mother with a long list of complaints. But Mrs. 
Haye was always diplomatic. She would listen with every 
appearance of sympathy; she would condole with her 
daughter, and then she would say, “ Every wife, my dear, 
has a great deal to undergo ; the foolish ones talk about 
their trouble, the wise ones keep it to themselves. After 
all, you must expect some little drawbacks. You have 
wealth, title, grandeur, diamonds, carriages, servants ; the 
only drawback is your husband, and you must study to 
bear with him as well as you can. ” 

That was all the comfort that Lady Chevenix ever had 
from her mother. 

Francis Haye would say to her at times : 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


177 


“I do not like to interfere, Violet ; but is all this that I 
hear about your husband’s intemperate habits true?” 

“I am afraid so, father,” she would reply, and then he 
would add : 

“ Can you do nothing to check him ? A wife should have 
some influence over her husband. ” 

“ I can do nothing, ” she would answer, and then her 
father would doubt whether, after all, things had happened 
for the best. 

Sir Owen rode over to Lilford and called at the office in 
Castle street. If he had found Felix there, his request 
would have been refused, but Darcy Lonsdale was in the 
office, and listened calmly to what the baronet had to 
say. 

“I cannot give you an immediate answer,” he replied, 
“ but I will think over your proposition and let you know 
our decision.” 

Sir Owen stopped while he said something about his 
earnest desires, and he made some impression on Darcy 
Lonsdale by his evident trust in him. Once the elder man 
was inclined to turn around and say, “ You robbed my son 
of the greatest joy of his life — his love — and I will have 
nothing to do with you or anything belonging to you. ” But 
that would have been undignified, and he had learned his 
lesson of mercy. To him there was something almost piti- 
ful in the fact of this strong, coarse, rich man, unable to 
take care of his own, unable to hold his position with dig- 
nity, appealing to him for the sensible management that 
he could not give himself. 

He would not decide hastily ; he did not think his son 
would like the business. But five hundred per annum was 
a consideration, besides which Darcy Lonsdale shrank 
from the remarks that people would make if he refused 
such an offer. He said nothing about it until he returned 
home at night, and then he found Eve Lester there, and 
the matter was reviewed in solemn council. 

“I say take it,” urged Kate. “It seems to me really, 
Darcy, that there is an especial Providence for us. Take 
it, by all means. It is a sin to throw five hundred a year 
away. ” 

“ My dear Kate, this is more a matter of sentiment than 
of money, ” said Mr. Lonsdale. 

“ I am of Kate’s opinion,” put in Evelyn. “ I quite think 
you should accept it If you do aot, people will say dis- 
agreeable things.” 


178 


WEAKEB THAN A WOMAN 


“I have thought of that, too. The general impression 
would be that Felix held some kind of resentment against 
Lady Chevenix, or that he had still some lingering liking 
left for her. What do you say yourself, Felix ?” 

“ My dear father, I will say nothing, ” he smiled. “ It is 
a matter of utter indifference to me. I do not see that 
there is the least connection between Lady Chevenix and 
her husband’s agency. Accept or decline it, just as you 
will.” 

“ If I accept it, I will undertake to do all the work, ” said 
Darcy Lonsdale. 

‘‘ Then I will do more for you, so that you may not feel 
it,” said Felix. 

“There would be one thing,” remarked Mr. Lonsdale. 
“ If we take the agency we shall be compelled to visit Gars- 
wood at times, and I do not know whether you would like 
that, Felix.” 

“I shall neither like nor dislike it,” he replied. “ It is a 
matter of utter indifference to me. I do not like Sir 
Owen, I confess ; as to Lady Chevenix I say nothing. If 
we are compelled to visit them we must suffer the penalty 
of mixing in society. ” 

He spoke in a tone of such perfect freedom and indiffer- 
ence that Darcy Lonsdale said to himself, “He has forgot- 
ten her,” but Kate and Eve both looked anxiously at him. 
He looked indifferent, and Kate thought he had achieved 
the victory, but Eve knew him better, and understood that 
he would fight to death, but would never yield. So, after 
a long and animated discussion, it was decided that Darcy 
Lonsdale should write to Sir Owen and tell him that his 
offer was accepted. 

“ I am glad,” said Eve, “ for I hear many people say that 
unless matters improve the time will come when Lady 
Chevenix will badly want some one to look after her inter- 
ests. Sir Owen drinks dreadfully, and has no thought of 
the hundreds he lavishes when he is not sober. Poor Lady 
Chevenix, with all her beauty, may yet want a friend. ” 

“ I hope not, ” said Darcy Lonsdale, kindly. “ If I have 
anything to do with Sir Owen’s affairs I shall do my best 
always for her. ” 

So the matter was settled, and Sir Owen, when he read 
the note in which Mr. Lonsdale gave his consent, was 
grateful. He took it at once to his wife. 

“ They have consented, Violet,” he said. ^‘Now from this 
day henceforth I shall lead a happy life ; all thati 


WEAKER TEAK A WOMAK 179 

and writing and worry was too much for me. I was tired 
of it. ” 

She read the note, and laid it down without comment. 
“Are you pleased, Violet?” he asked. 

“ I am pleased if you are, ” she replied. 

She was thinking whether this would bring her and 
Felix more together. 

“ I tell you what we’ll do, Violet. We will give a grand 
dinner-party, and you must ask all the people from Bram- 
ber Towers, with Mr. and Mrs. Lonsdale an(F Felix. See 
about it at once ; send the notes out to-day.” 

She obeyed him without a word. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

“l WISH I WERE dead!” 

“We cannot refuse,” said Darcy Lonsdale, as he held Sir 
Owen’s invitation open in his hand. “We must go this 
once, and then we can please ourselves afterward. What 
do you say, Felix ?” 

Felix thought for a few minutes, and then he said, 
frankly : 

“ To tell you the truth, father, I think I would rather not 
go — I do not like the idea. To transact Sir Owen’s busi- 
ness is all very well, but to dine with him is quite another 
thing. ” 

“You shall please yourself,” returned Mr. Lonsdale. 

In his heart, although he had felt great compassion and 
great indignation concerning his son, he was pleased that he 
had not married Violet. He had seen no chance of hap- 
piness for him — he had resented her conduct to him. 

Darcy Lonsdale knew that his son was bitterly wounded, 
but he said to himself, “ Pain is discipline, ” and every one 
had some kind of trouble to undergo. So, when he declined 
to go to Gars wood, Darcy sighed to himself, and was sorry 
that his son still felt the rankling of an old wound. 

But Kate would not have it so ; for the first time almost 
in her life she differed from her step-son. 

“You must go, Felix,” she said. “Only think what peo- 
ple will say if you stay away. Even Lady Chevenix her- 
self will be flattered and think you dare not meet her. Go, 
Felix ; I should not like to give her that triumph. You 
will have to meet her some time or other — do it now. ” 

He was not quite willing at first, but after a time Kate 
persuaded him, and it was arranged they should go. 


180 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


Yet Felix hardly liked it. To have refused Sir Owen’s 
agency would have been to stand in his father’s light, to 
prevent the children from receiving the benefits of an 
ample income. He would not do that, but when he was in 
sight of Gars wood he hated himself for having come near 
the place. He could not help wondering how Lady Cheve- 
nix would receive him, w’hat she would say to him, 
whether she would be pleased, or the reverse. 

“It can never be pleasant for her to meet me,” he 
thought. “ The sight of me must remind her of her un- 
faithfulness. ” 

As they came in view of the towers and turrets of Gars- 
wood he expressed this idea to his father. He wished even 
then that he could return. He looked anxiously into his 
father’s face. 

“ It seems to me, ” he said, “ that we have compromised 
our independence by accepting the agency. ” 

“ My dear Felix, ” Darcy Lonsdale laughed, “ if every man 
were to carry his private feelings into business, business 
would soon stop. Men come to my office who have slan- 
dered me, who helped to raise the cry that I had robbed 
James Hardman of his rights. I have to forgive them. I 
do not make friends with them, but I freely forgive them 
and do business for them ; you must do the same. Bear 
one thing in mind, and you will never be vexed about com- 
ing here. You are invited here, not as the lover whom Miss 
Violet Haye in her innocent pride forsook, but as the agent 
without whose services and restraining hand Sir Owen, 
rich as he is, will soon be ruined. ” 

“ There is common sense in that view, ” said Felix. 

“ Then again for your own sake, Felix, forget the past. 
The world is very unjust. A woman forsaken is always 
pitied ; a man forsaken is often laughed at. Let people say 
how little it must have affected you since you can visit her 
husband — not how bitterly you must grieve after her since 
you are compelled to decline all invitations.” 

And with those words the carriage stopped before the 
great entrance. Father and son entered the superb hall 
with its ancient oak and armor, its stained glass windows, 
and an ancient crest emblazond everywhere. 

They passed through a broad beautiful corridor where 
statuary — copies of the great masterpieces of the world — 
stood, where blooming flowers gave color and fragrance — 
through magnificent rooms, until they reached the great 
drawing-room where Sir Owen and Lady Chevenix re- 


Weaker than a womaK, 


m 


ceived their guests. Several were already assembled, but 
standing apart from all others Felix saw Lady Chevenix. 

It was the first time he had met her in her own home, 
in the midst of the splendor that was now hers, and his eyes 
were dazzled by her wondrous beauty. Her dress of white 
silk with trailing roses was richly trimmed with fringes of 
gold. She wore a tiara of diamonds set in gold. Her ex- 
quisite beauty and her exquisite dress dazed him for a few 
moments, but he made no sign ; and Darcy Lonsdale was 
proud of his son, as he advanced with princely grace and 
carriage into the room and bowed to the lovely woman who, 
despite all her efforts, grew deathly pale as she saw him. 

Lord Arlington, who never neglected any opportunity of 
publicly showing his great affection and regard for Darcy 
Lonsdale, went up to him and began a long and interesting 
conversation with him. Lady Maude called Felix to her 
side. And so the Lonsdales’ arrival passed off a^ the arri- 
val of any other guests would have done. 

“ I am glad you came, ” said Lady Maude to Felix. “ I 
was afraid you would refuse, and I should have been sorry 
for that. ” 

Then dinner was announced, and the long and stately 
procession moved forward to the dining-room. Felix, from 
where he sat, could not only see Lady Chevenix, but he 
could hear all that was passing. He wondered at her per- 
fect grace and elegance. She took her place at that su- 
perbly appointed table as though she had been accustomed 
to it all her life. There was no shyness, no mauvaise honte^ 
no gaucherie of manner. If she had been the daughter of a 
duchess she could not have been more well-bred, more re- 
fined and graceful. He watched her keenly, and with won- 
der. Where had she acquired her perfect grace and ease 
of manner ? 

Sir Owen, awed by the presence of his distinguished 
guests, behaved with great propriety, and altogether the 
dinner was a great success. Lady Chevenix gave the signal 
to the Countess of Arlington, and the ladies arose. Felix 
sprang up to open the door for them. His eyes met Vio- 
let’s, and he saw a red flush cover her face, and rise even to 
the roots of her hair. 

Was she ashamed to parade before him her wealth, her 
grandeur, her jewels ? The more shame she felt the better 
for her — it was a good sign. The gentlemen had a pleasant 
half hour, and then they rejoined the ladies. 

“Surely,” thought Lady Chevenix, “I shall be able to see 
him, to say a few words to him. I must know if he al- 


182 WEAKEH TRAN A WOMAN. 

ways intends to be as he is now, so cold, so proud, so un- 
f orgiving. ” 

But it was a far more difficult matter than she had 
thought. She could not speak to him without attracting 
observation, unless he either purposely or accidentally 
found himself near her. Perhaps he would make the op- 
portunity, she thought — ^but he did not. He talked a great 
deal to Lord and Lady Arlington, and at times to Lady 
Maude, but at last came an opportunity. Some one asked 
for the old-fashioned glee, “When shall we three meet 
again ?” and Lady Chevenix remembered that she had the 
music. Felix was to take the tenor part — he had a glorious 
tenor voice, rich, clear, and ringing. She turned to him 
with a charming smile • 

“ The music is with some old books of mine in the can- 
terbury — will you help me to find it ?” So, while the room 
was filled with laughter and song. Lady Chevenix and 
Felix bent over the old music-books to look for the glee. 
She turned her head, and said, in a low voice : 

“ I want to speak to you, Felix ; will you listen to me for 
a few minutes 

“If you wish it,” he replied, coldly. 

“ I do wish it. I want to know if all our lives we are to 
be like this. ” 

“ Like what. Lady Chevenix ?” he asked. 

“You know what I mean — if our lives are to be so en- 
tirely apart, if you will always be cold and distant and 
proud to me — if you will always avoid me and ignore my 
presence. ” 

He looked at her in mute wonder. 

“ Must I remind you of one thing, Lady Chevenix ?” he 
asked. 

“ What is that ?” she said. 

“ That it was your hand that separated us — that broke all 
ties.” 

“ Yes, I know that ; but could we not be friends ? Could 
you not come to see us sometimes — talk to me, share our 
amusements, and be really a friend — could you not do this, 
Felix ?” 

“No,” he said, “I could not.” 

“ Why ?” asked the sweet, soft voice. 

“ Because I happen to be a man, and not a statue — ^be- 
cause I have a human heart, and am not made of marble. 
Our lives lie apart. Lady Chevenix. ” 

“You might be kinder,” she said, and the beautiful 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


183 


woman shrank from him as though he had struck her a 
blow. 

No,” he rejoined, “it would not be possible. As the wife 
of another man, you are nothing to me ; to enter into a 
compact of friendship with you would be to endanger 
what I hope to keep stainless until I die — my honor before 
men and Heaven. Our lives lie quite apart, and nothing 
can bring them into contact. ” 

“Can I help you, Violet?” said a voice near them, and, 
looking up. Lady Chevenix saw the anxious face of her 
mother. 

Mrs. Haye bent over the music-books. 

“I will assist my daughter, Mr. Lonsdale,” she said, 
coldly. 

Felix bowed and left them. 

“My dear Violet,” said Mrs. Haye, “how can you be so 
imprudent? Why do you talk to him? You will cause re- 
marks that will not please you. ” 

“ Mamma, ” replied Violet, raising her white face, “he 
says that he will not even be friends with me. ” 

“ So much the better, my dear. Lady Chevenix, of Gars- 
wood, will choose her friends from among the highest in 
the land, not from her old playfellows. Try to look like 
yourself, Violet.” 

“ I will, but I wish I were dead, mamma !” 

“ Nonsense, child. See, Lady Maude is waiting for you. 
Come now, my darling Violet — courage ; this is but child- 
ish nonsense.” 

So with inspiring words she brought the smiles back to 
the sweet face, but in her heart she resolved that Lady 
Chevenix should see but little of Felix Lonsdale while she 
was there, and she kept her resolve. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

MANY CHANGES. 

Five years had passed since the peal of Violet Haye’s 
wedding-bells had driven her lover Felix almost mad, 
since the wonderful turn of good fortune had come to the 
Lonsdales and made them famous — five years, and they 
had brought with them many changes. The business and 
the fair fame of Lonsdale & Son had wonderfully increased ; 
they were compelled to engage more clerks, to enlarge their 
offices. Times had marvelously changed. Mrs. Lonsdale 
had a pretty carriage now and no stint of silk dresses ; the 


184 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


children had most of them gone to college and school. The 
house had been beautifully furnished ; there was a general 
air of prosperity about it that was pleasant. 

Darcy Lonsdale seemed to have recovered more than his 
usual health and strength ; he had never been so happy, so 
prosperous, and contented. Over and over again he said to 
himself that his misfortune had been a blessing. 

He attended almost entirely to Sir Owen’s business — 
Felix very seldom interfered with it, but he in his turn at- 
tended entirely to Lord Arlington’s. The firm was emi- 
nently prosperous, and it was fast taking the place of one 
of the most eminent in the county. 

A great change had come to Felix. These five years had 
wonderfully improved him. He was looked upon as the 
rising man of the day ; his society was courted ; his opin- 
ion was sought upon every leading question. He had not 
arisen, however, without effort on his own part. No one 
but himself knew how he had worked, how he had studied 
far into the silent hours of the night, how he had spent in 
reading the hours that other men give to amusement and 
recreation. He was like a king among his fellow-towns- 
men ; he had made for himself a reputation far beyond 
Lilford ; he was known as a clever writer, as the author of 
some of the most brilliant essays and articles published. 
He retained all the simple habits of his boyhood ; he rever- 
enced and loved his father, he loved Kate and the little 
ones. He might have set up a separate establishment for 
himself, but he was quite content with the old home at 
Vale House. The only luxury in which he had indulged 
was the purchase of a spirited thoroughbred. When he 
had worked until eye and brain and nerve were exhausted, 
he would ride through the green lanes, gallop over the 
breezy commons, and return with renewed vigor. 

They asked themselves, those who loved him best, if he 
had forgotten his unhappy love-affair. It was impossible 
to say ; those who watched him most keenly and most 
kindly — Eve and Katie — could not tell. Thej^ could see 
that he devoted himself to business and to study, to kindly 
interest in his home ; he seemed to care for nothing else. 
Had he forgotten the past ? 

He never mentioned Lady Chevenix ; he never made any 
of those half-bitter, half-cynical remarks in which disap- 
pointed men so often indulge. If any one spoke of her in 
his presence, he listened, and replied if necessary ; but 
there was nothing revealed in his manner. Kate said to 
herseli proudly that he had forgotten her, that his heart 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


185 


was too noble to keep alive the memory of a woman so 
false. Eve knew him better. There were times when 
even a gallop over the breezy uplands did not set him 
straight, and then he would go over to the Outlands. 

I have come to chat with you, Eve, ” he would say. 
“ Have you an hour to spare ?” 

Then one look at his face, at the shadowed eyes, would 
tell her that he was doing tierce battle with his foe. She 
would go into the pretty old-fashioned sitting-room, and, 
making him sit in a comfortable arm-chair, would talk to 
him. To herself she said often that it was like the laying 
of an evil spirit. She would read to him, converse with 
him, give him all the news she could. She knew, and he 
knew, why he was there, what ailed him, what old sorrow 
was crying aloud, what vain wild passion, what vain deep 
regret, was in his heart, but it was not discussed. 

She knew when her wise, sweet, tender words took 
effect ; the shadow would fall from his face, and he would 
listen in silence. At times he would sit for an hour listen- 
ing, never speaking, and then rising with a brightened 
look that did her heart good, he would clasp her hand 
warmly in his own. 

“ Thank you. Eve, ” he would say to her ; I know best 
what you have done for me. ” 

Miss Lester was not very well pleased just then with her 
niece. Eve had received two good offers of marriage, and 
had refused them both ; and, though Miss Lester disliked 
men, she had always a keen eye to the main chance, and 
said that if Eve refused one she ought to have taken tha 
other. 

She confided her grievance to Felix. 

“ I wish, ” she said, “ that you would talk to her ; you have 
known her so long — you are an old friend. Talk to her, 
Felix ; tell her how foolish it is to refuse every good offer. ” 

“ But I thought you disapproved of marriage. Miss Les- 
ter, and disliked men ?” 

“ So I do — so I do, but I shall not live forever, and Eve 
must have some one to take care of her. Squire Hethway 
would have made her a good husband. Talk to her, Felix.” 

“I really do not like to speak to Eve on such a matter,” 
said Felix ; “ she might not like it. She must have had her 
own reasons for saying ‘No.’ ” 

“ Eeasons !” quoth Miss Lester. “ She hasn’t any. She 
is waiting until the man in the moon proposes to marry 
her, and I hope it will be soon. ” 

Felix went away laughing, but he thought of Evelyn 


186 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


that evening more than he had, ever before. He wondered 
why she would not marry, and then he said to himself 
that after all he was not sorry. His friendship for her was 
the most pleasant part of his life, and he could hardly 
imagine her devoted entirely to another. She was not beau- 
tiful, but there were times when he saw on her fair face 
loveliness brighter than any physical beauty ; she was so 
tender, so earnest, so pure, so noble and high-minded. 

“Whoever marries her,” he^thought, “will certainly have 
a treasure of a wife. Eve deserves the truest love that a 
man can give her. ” 

Yet it never once occurred to him to love her himself. In 
his honest heart he believed that love was all ended for 
him ; he could not realize that a man could love twice in a 
life-time. His love, he told himself, had been slain. He 
never thought now of any future for himself : he never 
pictured himself with fair wife or loving children ; he 
never dreamed again of a home. He filled his mind with 
work and study — love had ceased to be for him. 

While he steadily rose in the world Sir Owen just as 
steadily went down. Five years had served to injure both 
the baronet’s character and estate ; but for the restraining 
hand of Darcy Lonsdale he would have been ruined. The 
clever, honest lawyer had acquired a kind of influence 
over him ; he would not allow him to live above his in- 
come ; when Sir Owen made most extraordinary demands 
for money, his answer was always, “If you persist in 
spending more than your income. Sir Owen, I must resign 
my office,” and that threat invariably brought the baronet 
to reason. He knew that he was about as capable of manag- 
ing his estate as of translating Greek. 

Sir Owen had had one great disappointment — Heaven had 
not blessed him with a son and heir. One good quality 
among a host of bad ones was his love of children. While 
he was cruel to animals, almost furious at times with his 
wife and servants, he loved little children ; and the chances 
were that if he had had children around him he would have 
been a better man. As it was, the disappointment made 
him sour and morose ; he could not bear it ; he was sullen 
and fierce by turns. 

“No son to succeed me !” he would say. “Why should I 
care about my fame or my name ? I want a son. I should 
have something to live for if I had a son. Why, some of the 
laborers on my estate have half a dozen strong, sturdy 
sons ; why should not one at least have been given to me ?” 

“You may depend upon it, Sir Owen, Heaven knows best 


w:eaker than a woaian 


187 


where to place the little ones,” Darcy Lonsdale would say, 
and then Sir Owen, knowing how far he was from being 
able to train a child, would say no more. 

He would have loved his wife better if little children had 
been there to soften him ; as it was, he now spent half his 
time in quarreling with her and in tyrannizing over her, 
and the other half in fierce love-making. That to her was 
the worst mood of the two. 

He was not loved, the rich baronet ; the simple towns- 
people told strange tales of him when gathered around their 
fires at night — strange evil stories that never came to his 
wife’s ears, or she would have left him. 

I would not have let him marry my daughter, ” the poor 
women would say ; “ no, not if he had been twice as rich. ” 

There was no mistake about the fact that his name was 
in very evil odor among both rich and poor. 

Francis Haye talked over the matter with his wife some- 
times. Mrs. Haye looked at it quite philosophically. 

am told,” she said, “that he drinks over a bottle of 
brandy each day ; if that is really the case he cannot live 
long. ” 

“ I do not see how that improves matters,” rejoined her 
husband. 

“I do ; she is sure to have all his money, and then in a 
short time she can marry again. ” 

Francis Haye was not particularly sagacious, but this 
view of the matter struck him at once. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

SIR OWEN’S INSULTS. 

Lady Chevenix was standing in her superb drawing-room 
alone ; she held a folded paper in her hand which she was 
reading attentively ; then she meditated for a few min 
utes, and afterward rang the bell. To the servant who an- 
swered it she said : 

“Will you ask Mrs. Haye if she can come to me? I 
wish particularly to speak to her.” 

Mrs. Haye was spending a few days at Garswood— that 
was what the world was told ; in reality she was there 
because Lady Chevenix feared for her life. Sir Owen had 
been drinking heavily, and he had grown dangerous, as 
she believed. She had lost all control over him, and the 
terrified servants told each other of sobs and cries that 


188 


WEAKER THAN A W03fAK. 


sounded at night when all the house was still. She grew 
alarmed at last, and sent for Mrs. Haye. 

That philosophical lady said nothing to the fierce, angry 
nmn who was beyond reasoning with, but she sent for a 
physician, and the appearance of a doctor frightened him 
into better behavior.* Lady Chevenix would not part with 
her mother. 

“You must stay with me, mamma, ” she said. “I have 
been through scenes that would make you shudder, and I 
have lost all heart — quite lost all heart. You must stay 
with me.” 

Mrs. Haye was one of those women who, even when 
alone, never undervalue appearances, and she always moved 
and spoke as though people were looking at her. She 
merely answered — 

“ I shall be very pleased, indeed, to stay with you until 
your husband is stronger and better, my dear. ” 

And it was arranged that she should do so. 

Lady Chevenix stood waiting for her now. As she stood 
there, so tall and stately, with such ineffable beauty and 
grace in face and figure, she did not look like one who had 
lost her heart. Her girlish loveliness had developed into 
womanly magnificence, but there was little trace in her of 
Violet Haye, the sweet girl coquette — little trace of the 
girl who had loved Felix Lonsdale, or even of the woman 
who had asked him so piteously to be “ friends” with her. 
A darker sheen lay on the golden hair, a deeper light lay 
in the lovely eyes, the red mouth had not its wonted smile. 
One could see at a glance that the years had embittered 
her. She had not grown soft and tender, but stern, proud, 
and cold. She had hardened her heart, and tried to care 
for nothing but the wealth and luxury she now possessed. 

She looked exquisitely beautiful ; her morning-dress fell 
in artistic folds, a tiny cap of white lace and blue ribbon 
lay lightly on her golden head. Yet, though she was so 
wonderfully lovely, and was surrounded by all that was 
most desirable, she did not look like a happy woman. 

She raised her eyes as her mother came into the room. 

“ Mamma, ” she said, holding out the paper, “ I wish you 
would read this and tell me what to do. ” 

Mrs. Haye took the paper from her daughter’s hand and 
read it. 

“The Loomshire Hunt Ball,” she said. “Of course you 
are going ?” 

“ That is what I want to know, mamma. You see, Sir 
Owen is one of the stewards, If I show it to him, and he 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. 


189 


goes, you can guess what is almost sure to happen — ^he will 
not keep sober. If I do not show it, and he finds out that I 
have received it — ” A shrug of the beautiful shoulder con- 
veyed the rest. “ What do you advise me to do ?” 

You must show it to him, my dear ; there is no alterna- 
tive. As steward and patron he must attend — that is, if he 
is well. ” 

“ He ought not to go, mamma. You know what will hap- 
pen. Doctor Bell advised me to keep him at home and 
quite quiet, but if he finds out that this has been withheld 
from him, I can imagine what will follow” 

There was no sorrow, no despair in her voice. She merely 
gave hard, cold utterance to what she knew to be certain. 
She looked musingly at her motker. Mrs. Haye gazed at 
her. 

“You cannot shut yourself away from all society, Violet, 
because you are afraid that your husband will not behave 
himself. You might as well be out of the world.” 

“Well, as matters stand, that is quite true,” she replied. 
“ You do not know, mother, what I suffer when he behaves 
in that way. I think sometimes that if I had been born an 
aristocrat I should not feel it so much. Then I could have 
stood aloof from the disgrace ; now it falls upon me.” 

“Nay, that it does not, Violet,” said Mrs. Haye, warmly. 
“You cannot force Sir Owen to keep sober. He drank be- 
fore he knew you. ” 

“Yes, that he did. I cannot expect anyone to under- 
stand me, but that is really my feeling, that I share in the 
disgrace. Still that is not the point in question. Do you 
advise me to show him this or not ?” 

“ I think you must show it to him, ” said Mrs. Haye, “ it 
would not be safe to keep him in ignorance, I am sure, and 
we must do our best afterward with him. You need not 
remain very long at the ball, you know. ” 

“ I will do as you say, mamma, ” she replied ; and Mrs. 
Haye could read neither pleasure nor pain in her face. 

Left alone again, Violet walked to the window, and stood 
looking out on the brilliant flowers and the stately trees. 

“ Of all strange turns, ” she said to herself, “ to think that 
my life should have taken this — that the brightest part of 
it is to be spent in keeping a fierce, coarse, violent man 
sober ?” 

She was always just. She had sought her own destiny ; 
it had not been forced upon her. She had that which she 
had coveted, and she must take the drawbacks with it. 

She found that she had acted wisely in taking her 


190 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


mother’s advice. One of the first things Sir Owen asked 
about was the ball. 

“ Shall you go ?” she asked her husband. 

“ That I shall, ” he replied, “ and you, too. Lady Maude 
Arlington is going; every one who is any one will be 
there. ” 

It was a favorite festival of his ; he enjoyed making him- 
self popular. He never missed the Hunt Ball. 

“Violet, mind you have a dress worth looking at. Lady 
Chevenix of G-arswood must be second to none on this occa- 
sion. If there is anything you want, no matter what it 
costs, you must have it. ” 

She thanked him, but there was neither gratitude nor 
pleasure in her voice. Bitterly enough she said to herself, 
“ Vf hat will it matter if I am covered with diamonds ? I 
shall have a weight of care on my mind which all the dia- 
monds on earth could not balance — the ever-present fear 
that my husband will disgrace himself. ” 

But during the next few days Sir Owen improved. The 
doctor had given him a serious fright ; he had assured him 
that unless he led a more abstemious life he must soon die. 
He bore the warning in mind, and drank less. 

He began to interest himself in the ball. Lady Chevenix 
looked forward to it with pleasure ; Lady Maude would be 
there, and she liked Lady Maude. Felix would be there, 
too — she had heard Sir Owen say so. She longed to see him 
again ; she felt that there would be a sense of rest and pro- 
tection in his presence that never came to her with any 
other. She wondered to herself if he would ask her to 
dance. 

“ I should like to dance with him,” she thought to herself, 
with a smile that was almost pitiful. 

She took great interest in her dress and her jewels, 
hoping that he would notice her presence more than he 
generally did. Very beautiful she looked in her favorite 
colors, white and blue — white satin and blue velvet. With 
her exquisitely molded arms and neck — fair as a sculptor’s 
dream — a diamond necklace clasped around her throat, a 
diamond cross gleaming on her white breast, she looked 
like one who could sway men’s hearts. Sir Owen was 
proud of her, and said so in his blunt fashion. 

u There will not be a woman in the room like you, 
Violet,” he said; and she wondered whether there would 
be one with such a load of anxiety on her mind. 

The ball was always held at the Assembly Booms in 
Lilford. It was very exclusive, very select, and at times 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN, 


191 


very dull. But this year the party from Bramber Towers 
was a large one ; several officers were visiting there. They 
at first voted the Hunt Ball a decided ‘‘bore,” but when 
they saw Lady Chevenix they thought differently. She was 
worth coming many miles to see, they declared, and she 
was soon surrounded by a crowd of admirers. 

The rooms were beautifully decorated and filled with a 
brilliant crowd. Lady Chevenix looked for Felix first ; she 
saw him, but he did not approach her. She observed that 
he chatted with the Countess of Arlington, and then with 
Lady Maude ; she wondered if he would seek her. She 
kept her would-be partner in suspense. But Felix did not 
come ; he danced with Lady Maude. Violet could not help 
hearing what people said — “ How well they look together ! 
Can it be possible that there is anything in it ?” She could 
not help hearing it, and a pang of jealous pain seemed to 
rive in her heart. Surely that could never be ? Felix marry 
Lady Maude ! It was all nonsense — the gossip of foolish 
people who did not know what they were saying. 

She checked herself abruptly. What if it were so? 
What did it matter to her ? Felix and herself were more 
than strangers. The greatest stranger in that room thought 
more of her and said more to her than Felix did. She was 
the queen of the night. Her wonderful beauty, her gor- 
geous dress, her costly jewels, made her the very center of 
observation. She had her triumph. The lover she had 
forsaken treated her with coldness, her husband kept her 
in a state of terrible suspense, but the crowd admired her. 
No one present would have believed that the beautiful, 
radiant woman had a weight, as of lead, at her heart. 

Her spirits rose as the night wore on. It was something 
to see all the men admiring her ; to see them strive for one 
smile from her ; to see how they surrounded her, how they 
struggled to be of service to her ; how her smiles and 
bright words swayed them as the sweet western wind sways 
the leaves. That was her triumph, and, to one so vain, it 
was no small one. She saw that Lady Maude, with all her 
aristocratic influence, was not sought after and admired as 
she was. 

‘‘ Beauty rules the world, ” she thought, and then added, 
with a smile and a sigh, “ Beauty and money combined, I 
mean. ” 

Half the evening had passed, and she had exchanged no 
word with Felix. Presently chance brought them almost 
side by side in a quadrille. He bowed and spoke to her. 
She could not help the feeling of relief that came over her. 


192 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN, 


Would he ask her to dance ? She gave him the opportunity, 
but he did not take it. He never even thought of it. He 
had taken his farewell of those false hands ; he would touch 
them no more. 

When she went to partake of an ice with Major Morrison 
she saw her husband standing by the buffet. He was hold- 
ing a tumbler in his hand, and she could tell bv his face 
that he had drank to much. Her heart almost stopped 
beating. What should she do if there was a scene here ? 

“Pray excuse me,” she said to Major Morrison. 

She went up to Sir Owen, and laid her hand upon his 
arm. 

“We have had a very pleasant evening,” she said, and 
her poor lips were white with fear. 

“Very,” he replied, and in the effort to look dignified he 
spilled some of the brandy on her dress. 

“ I am tired, ” she said, trembling in every nerve ; “ and, 
if you will. Sir Owen, I should like to go home. ” 

Her one wish was to get him away before any one noticed 
his condition. 

“ I shall not go home yet, ” he said. “ Go back to your 
dancing. When I am ready I will send for you. ” 

She dared not disobey him. She went back to the ball- 
room, a deadly fear nestling in her heart. 

Whether he ever did send for her, or whether it was but 
the fancy of an excited brain, Violet never knew. She had 
not ventured to disobey him when he said, “ Go back to 
your dancing ;” she did as he had directed. She had not 
dared to disobey or to plead with him, or to urge one en- 
treaty on him. She read contempt for her husband and 
pity for herself in the eyes of Major Morrison. He made 
no allusion to the scene, nor did she, but when the dance 
was ended she asked him to take her back to the same 
spot. When she reached it Sir Owen was gone. 

Felix had been to escort Lady Maude to her carriage — the 
party from Bramber retired early — and as he was returning 
he saw Sir Owen assisted into his carriage. Sir Owen 
called to him. 

“Mr. Lonsdale,” he said, in a thick voice, “will you take 
a message to Lady Ghevenix from me ? Tell her that she 
did not choose to come when I sent for her, and that now 
she may get home as she can ; she may walk through the 
mud if she likes.” 

“ Stop, Sir Owen !” cried Felix. 

But, with great dignity and ferocity mingled, Sir Owen 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN, 


193 


shouted, “ Home !” and the horses started off rapidly, leav- 
ing Felix angry and full of wonder. 

At first he thought it must be a jest — no one could treat 
a young wife so barbarously, so cruelly, and he half ex- 
pected the carriage to return, but it did not, and there was 
nothing left for him but to make the best of his message. 
He went back to the ball-room ; it was difficult to believe 
that the beautiful, brilliant young queen around whom the 
best men in the room had assembled was the wife of the 
stupid, fierce, drunken baronet. He made his way to her, 
and waited until he could find an opportunity of speaking 
to her. 

“Lady Chevenix,” he said, “I have something I wish to 
say to you. ” 

She turned eagerly to him, and the light that came over 
her face caused him keen pain. She arose from her seat, 
dismissed her train of admirers with a queenly smile and 
bow, and laid her hand upon his arm. If the touch of the 
little hand made him tremble she was not aware of it. 
They walked through the crowded ball-room until they 
came to a small recess at the end of it ; then she raised 
her face to his. 

“You wanted to speak to me,” she said. “I shall be very 
happy to listen. ” 

She decided that he had come to tell her that he would 
like to be better friends with her ; no other thought entered 
her mind. Her limpid eyes were filled with light as she 
waited eagerly. 

“I am afraid it is not a very agreeable subject,” he 
began. “ May I ask if you have seen Sir Owen lately ?” 

He saw the light and the color fade, the cold, hard look 
come back again ; the very tone of her voice changed. 

“ I saw him half an hour since, and wanted him to go 
home with me,” she replied. 

“ Then there has been some mistake — just as I imagined. 
The truth is. Lady Chevenix, Sir Owen has gone home, 
after intrusting to me a message so brusque and abrupt that 
I do not like to deliver it. ” 

Prouder and colder grew the fair face, yet into it there 
came, he saw, a shadow of fear. 

“Gone home,” she repeated, “and left me here?” 

“I am sure there has been a mistake,” he said. “Sir 
Owen wished me to say that he had sent for you, and — and 
that as you did not come he had gone home Avithout you. ” 

“ But he will send the carriage back for me?” she inter- 
rupted. 


194 WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 

“ I am afraid not, ” he replied. “ But I would rather not 
repeat his words. I am sure the carriage will not return. ” 

“ And he sent me this message by you, ” she cried — “ by 
you of all men !” 

“ I am sorry to have had to deliver it, but I had no alter- 
native, ” he replied. May I advise you. Lady Chevenix ?” 

“If you please,” she replied. 

“ Then I should counsel you to return home at once, before 
any one has time to notice Sir Owen’s absence — it will save 
so many unpleasant remarks. I will order a carriage, and 
no one need know for whom it is intended. ” 

“ Thank you,” she said, gently, “ that will be best. I will 
go to the cloak-room at once. ” 

She did so, and a few minutes afterward she stood, with 
her opera-cloak round her, waiting for him. 

“ The carriage is ready. Lady Chevenix, ” he said ; “ allow 
me. ” He opened the door for her, and stood waiting until 
she had taken her seat. “ It will not be long before you are 
home — you have a capital horse and a good driver.” 

She looked at him, and her eyes filled with tears. 

“Felix,” she said, “will you accompany me home? I 
would not ask you but that I am frightened. I am, indeed. 
I dare not go alone. ” 

He hesitated for half a minute, and then he said to him- 
self that he must not think that she was Violet Haye or 
Lady Chevenix ; she was simply a woman in distress, and 
it was his duty to help her. 

“ I am afraid, ” she continued, and he saw that her face 
was quite white and that her hands trembled. What a 
mockery her diamonds and her superb dress appeared 
now ! “ Sir Owen is very violent when he is not quite him- 

self, ” she continued. “ If he is at home alone, I dare not 
go.” 

“I will accompany you. Lady Chevenix,” he said ; “have 
no fear — you may rely upon me. ” 

They said but little during the journey, and Felix was 
glad when the carriage reached Garswood. 

“You will come in with me?” said Lady Chevenix ; and, 
seeing the white, frightened face, he would have done any- 
thing to help her. 

He was thankful that he had consented, for Sir Owen 
had worked himself into a state of uncontrollable anger. 
He was in the drawing-room, with a decanter half full of 
brandy on the table by his side, and when the pale woman 
entered he launched a volley of furious oaths at her. She 
made no reply, but, turning to Felix, said, quietly ; 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


195 


‘‘Will you take any refreshment, Mr. Lonsdale? You 
have had a long drive. ” 

Another volley of oaths followed. Pale, scared, and 
trembling, she fled from the room and took refuge in her 
own. If she had been alone he would have followed her, 
and then she would have had to save herself as she best 
could, but Felix was there, and the very thought of his 
presence comforted her. He staid with the furious man, 
Avhose violence soon changed into the extreme of friendli- 
ness, until he had stupefied himself with drink and was car- 
ried off helpless to bed, and then Felix started for Lilford. 

As he left Garswood, Felix raised his face to the calm 
evening skies. 

“ Heaven help her,” he said. “ Poor Violet !” 

No reference to this little scene passed his lips, but in his 
mind he felt infinite pity for her. 

A few days later Sir Owen, feeling ashamed of his recent 
escapade, insisted upon having a dinner-party. Lady 
Eolfe, that veteran diner-out, with her daughter Lavinia, 
who had married a curate and subsided into “ parish work, ” 
the curate himself, a mild, inoffensive gentleman, who had 
perhaps deserved a better fate, the Reverend Mr. Clayburn, 
Darcy and Felix Lonsdale, Captain Hill, with one or two 
more, were to be present. The baronet wished to give this 
little party to remove any bad impression there might be 
in the minds of people since the ball. He had resolved 
upon being most amiable, polite, and attentive, to his wife 
especially. 

But circumstances were against him. His favorite horse 
that very morning had been found lame, and the groom had 
the insolence or the courage to tell him that he had caused 
it himself by his reckless riding. He turned to dismiss the 
man on the spot, and then suddenly remembered that he 
could not replace him, for he was one of the most valuable 
servants that he had. He was obliged to rein in his temper, 
which in itself was enough to drive him almost mad, so 
little was he accustomed to self-control. His favorite mas- 
tiff, too, was ill, and he was annoyed about that. The 
veterinary suregon said that the dog had better be shot, 
and Sir Owen swore roundly at him, to which the surgeon 
answered by saying that he could please himself, and that 
for the future he should not attend at Garswood if he were 
sent for. Sir Owen was very angry. It was incredible that 
a baronet worth forty thousand a year could not swear as 
he liked ; such a thing was not to be borne. 

gOj when the guests sat down to dinner, Sir Owen was 


196 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


not in the best of humors. He was a discontented man by 
nature. The first thing that always occurred to him was to 
complain, to find fault — never to praise. If he saw clear 
soup he was cross because it was not thick ; if it were thick 
he wanted thin. If one dish were placed before him he was 
quite sure to complain because it was not another. 

On this particular day he was very much annoyed be- 
cause some of his favorite fish was not cooked as he liked 
it. In vain Lady Chevenix, seeing a storm brewing, tried 
to avert it ; the more amiable and complacent she looked 
the blacker and angrier he grew. An uncomfortable 
silence fell over the guests. Felix did his best ; he tried to 
make conversation, but it was difficult with those muttered 
growls running on like an under-current. At last some 
other dish raised Sir Owen’s ire, and he exclaimed : 

“ If I had married some one who understood these things 
I should have been better off. ” 

The guests saw Lady Chevenix ’s face grow as pale as the 
pearls she wore. Her silence irritated her husband, for he 
cried out angrily against her, with a word so coarse and 
insulting that there was not a man present who did not 
long to horsewhip him. She rose with quiet grace and 
dignity to quit the room ; she felt that she owed it to her 
own self-respect not to remain. No sooner did he see her 
do so than he sprang from his seat and cried : 

“Go back to your seat, my lady — do not show any of 
your airs here. ” 

The gentlemen arose quickly, but she mastered herself 
with an effort, for which they commended her. She re- 
pressed the hysterical cry that arose to her lips, smiled, and 
went back to her chair. 

“ Sir Owen does not always choose his jests wisely,” she 
said, and order was at once restored. 

They admired her more than they could say — it vras im- 
possible to help it. Her grace, her beauty, her self- 
possession, her self-contol, her tact, all struck them. There 
was no one present who did not think highly of her for her 
behavior through so trying a scene. Sir Owen tried to 
laugh it off. He made some awkward apologies about 
having been annoyed by horses, dogs, and servants ; never- 
theless the incident left two disagreeable reminders for 
him. Darcy Lonsdale told him that same evening that the 
next time he insulted Lady Chevenix in his presence he 
must seek another adviser. Captain Hill did better. 

“ I want to say a few words to you. Sir Owen, ” he began, 
when on the point of departure, “You invite gentlemen to 


WEAKER THAK A WOMAK 


197 


your house,” he told him, “ and then presume to insult them 
by behaving in the most brutal fashion to your wife. Do not 
repeat the experiment. Sir Owen. I have broken bread with 
you for the last time.” 

And no further word would the sturdy old sportsman ex- 
change with him. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

“l DESERVE IT ALL.” 

Sir Owen was alarmed — he found that, although he was 
a baronet, he could not do as he liked with impunity. 
Society had certain laws that must be kept — and one was 
that a man must, if he wished to be considered a gentle- 
man, treat his wife with respect. Sir Owen found that he 
must alter, for people were beginning to give up his ac- 
quaintance ; some of the best families in the county, who 
had formerly welcomed him with open arms, now did not 
even invite him to their formal parties. He was losing 
caste as fast as he could lose it, and he said to himself that 
something must be done ; he must alter, or every house in 
the county would be closed against him. 

Withal there was something good in him — he was not 
without some redeeming qualities. On the day after the 
discreditable scene in his own house he rode over to Captain 
Hill’s, *and asked to see that gentleman. The captain looked 
very black when he saw who his visitor was, but Sir Owen 
held out his hand. 

“I disgraced myself yesterday, captain,” he said, ‘-and I 
am come to beg your pardon — to say how sorry I am. I 
deserved every word that you said to me, and now I make 
you the most ample apology. Will you shake hands?” 

It was impossible to refuse, 'but Captain Hill assented 
with an ill grace. 

“ Have you apologized to your wife ?” he asked. “ That is 
the chief thing. ” 

“ Yes ; I have made it all right with her. Upon my word, 
I am quite ashamed of myself. It shall not happen again. 

For some days he did not give way to any excess, and in 
a shamefaced kind of way he tried to make up to his wife 
for his recent outburst of violence — he always did when he 
had offended her almost beyond forgiveness. He lavished 
new dresses, new jewels, new ornaments of all kinds upon 
her, for in his heart he loved her better than anything else 
on earth, though he insulted and ill treated her, 


198 


WEAKm THAN A WOMAN. 


Mrs. Haye had gone home, pleased at leaving matters a 
little better than she had found them, but Lady Chevenix 
had vowed to herself that she would not, if possible, be left 
alone with her husband again. She found that the presence 
of a third party made some difference, was some restraint, 
some check upon him. She invited Miss Hethcote to spend 
a few weeks with her, and that young lady, who had a 
girl’s adoration for the beautiful, graceful Lady Chevenix; 
gladly consented. Marian Hethcote was a bright, pretty, 
clever girl, and her companionship was very pleasant to 
the Lady of Gars wood. 

They spent the greater part of the time together during 
the first few days of her stay. Sir Owen was most gracious 
to her. Then, as was usual with him, familiarity bred 
contempt. Miss Hethcote herself could not endure him. 
When her father remonstrated with her one day about her 
openly expressed dislike of the baronet, she said : 

“ I could never like a man who swears at his wife, papa, 
and Sir Owen very seldom speaks to Lady Chevenix with- 
out doing so. A man who swears at his wife will do any- 
thing. ” 

Her dislike to him was not unjustified. She was sitting 
one morning with Lady Chevenix in her boudoir, the room 
that was like a shrine for the woman who used it. They 
were talking gayly and happily enough, when in the dis- 
tance they heard the voice of Sir Owen speaking in most 
angry tones. The sound drew nearer and nearer. 

“ He is coming here, ” said Marian Hethcote, and the two 
ladies looked at each other in distress. 

The door was opened with violence, and Sir Owen strode 
into the room, his face purple with rage. He did not speak 
to Miss Hethcote, but looked at his wife. 

“ Where is my silver-mounted riding- whip ?” he asked. 

“ I do not know, Owen,” she replied. 

“You do know. You had it last, and now it is gone ; no 
one can find it. The grooms say you had it last week.” 

“ I do not remember having had it, ” she replied, gently. 

But the gentle words did not touch him. His temper was, 
as he expressed it, “ all in a blaze, ” and when that was the 
case he spared neither man, woman, nor child. Miss 
Hethcote shrank back, startled and scared at the insults 
and abuse he lavished upon his wife. Lady Chevenix stood 
quite calm and still. When the angry oaths had ceased, 
she looked up at him. 

“I will go and try to find it, Owen,” she said. “I am 
sorry if I have annoyed you by misplacing it, ” 


WEAKEB THAKA WOMAK 


199 


She left the room, and the baronet went to the window. 
He felt rather ashamed of himself, for in his anger he had 
quite forgotten Miss Hethcote’s presence. He stood there 
looking out for some minutes in silence. Then he turned to 
her. 

“Women are so stupid,” he said. 

She was young, and loved Lady Chevenix very dearly, so 
she was not unwilling to take part in the fray. She had 
not yet learned that all-important lesson, that it is never 
safe to interfere between a man and his wife. 

“ They are remarkably stupid, ” she replied, “ to tolerate 
such words as you have just used to Lady Chevenix. If 1 
were in her place I know what I should do. ” 

“ What would you do ?” he asked, sneeringly. 

“ When I did find the silver-mounted riding- whip, I know 
what use I should make of it. ” 

He laughed. The idea of a riding- whip in those delicate 
little hands for the purpose hinted at amused him. 

“If you were in Lady Chevenix ’s place,” he said, “you 
would do just as she does — submit ; it is a woman’s lot.” 

“ I should not mind submission, but my submission would 
be to a gentleman, not to a swearing, loud-voiced tyrant.” 

“You speak pretty freely, ” he said. “Do not vex me, 
though. ” 

“ I would rather vex than please you. ” 

She was interrupted by the opening of the door. Lady 
Chevenix entered with the riding- whip in her hand. 

“I have found it, Owen,” she said, quietly, as though no 
unkind word had passed his lips. “ I am sorry to say that I 
did mislay it. It was put away by mistake with mine. ” 

“I must request you, for the future,” he returned, “not 
to touch anything belonging to me. What is mine is mine, 
and not yours. Do not let me be vexed in this way again.” 

He left the room with a quick, angry bang at the door. 
Lady Chevenix quietly took up her point-lace and resumed 
the conversation. Marian Hethcote looked at her, wonder- 
ing tears in her eyes. She went over to her, and clasped 
her arms around her neck. 

“Dear Lady Chevenix,” she said, “is it possible that you 
do not really care ? I thought you would come back broken- 
hearted. ” 

“ Care, my dear, for trifles I am so thoroughly used to ?” 
questioned Sir Owen’s wife. “Certainly not.” 

“ I do not understand how you can bear it. It is wonder- 
ful to me. I should run away. I could not live under it.” 


200 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


“ My dear child, we learn patience as we grow older,” said 
Lady Chevenix, gravely. 

But sweet, impulsive Marian would not be satisfied. 

“ I think it is dreadful. Do not be angry with me. Lady 
Chevenix, please. I have never heard such words before. 
They have filled me with horror. I cannot bear to think 
that you listen to them daily, you who ought to hear only 
sweet, kind, tender words. ” 

“We will forget all about it, Marian,” said Lady 
Chevenix. “It does not matter; everything comes to an 
end at last.” 

But Marian’s heart had been stirred. 

“ Dear Lady Chevenix, ” she went on, “do not think me 
rude — that which would be rudeness in another is only love 
in me. I do love you so dearly, and I cannot bear to hear 
you spoken to in that fashion. If I were in your place I 
should run away. ” 

Lady Chevenix smiled. 

“That would not be of much use,” she said. “I find as 
the days pass that I cannot run away from my trouble. ” 

Marian stood watching her, with a sad look on her fair 
young face. 

“I often .think about you. Lady Chevenix,” she said, 

“ and I wonder why — pray do not be angry with me — you 
married Sir Owen ; you are so gentle, and he is so much the 
reverse. ” 

“ My dear Marian, marriages are made in heaven, ” she re- 
turned, with a slow, sad smile. 

“Are they? Well, dear Lady Chevenix — do not think me 
irreverent — if your marriage was made in heaven mine 
shall be made on earth. I often wonder if I ever shall 
marry. Do you know that in my short career I have not 
seen very much happiness in married life ? I am not greatly 
in love wth it, therefore. ” 

“ It is like everything else — ^a lottery and a chance,” said 
Lady Chevenix. 

“ I have quite made up my mind what kind of man I 
should like to marry,” went on Marian. “He must be 
good, to begin with — clever, distinguished, and handsome, 
gentle, and yet brave — something like — do not laugh at me. 
Lady Chevenix — something like Mr. Felix Lonsdale ; he is 
my beau-ideal of a man. ” 

She wondered why Lady Chevenix turned away with a 
little low cry on her pale Ipis. 

“You like Mr. Felix Lonsdale, then, Marian?” she said, 
after a time. It was a pleasure to talk of him, to utter his 


WEAKER TEAK A WOMAK. 201 

name and to hear it — a pleasure that she had long been de- 
prived of. 

“Yes, I like him better than any gentleman I have met — 
much better. He seems to me a gentleman in every sense 
of the word. I like him very much,” she continued, 
warmly, quite unconscious of the pain she was inflicting 
on Lady Chevenix. 

“He would be flattered if he knew how highly you 
thought of him, Marian. ” 

The sweet, girlish laugh rang out gayly ? 

“Would he? Ido not think so. He does not seem to 
care very much for the society of ladies ; he talks more to 
Lady Maude Arlington than to any one else. He is not 
what most people call a lady’s man.” 

“ He has other things to think of, ” said Lady Chevenix. 

“Perhaps so. Mrs. Clayburn told me he had a great 
trouble, a great sorrow, in his early life. ” 

“ Did she tell you what it was ?” asked Lady Chevenix ; 
and Marian Hethcote did not see the trembling of the white 
hands. 

“ Yes ; he loved some one who forsook him ; she married 
some one else. Mrs. Clayburn did not tell me much about 
it, but she said that that accounted for his not caring much 
for the. society of ladies ; he had loved this lady so long and 
so truly that he had taken it deeply to heart, and he had 
never recovered from the sorrow. ” 

“ I do not believe it, ” said Lady Chevenix, slowly. 

“ Indeed it is true. I watched him after she had told me, 
and I saw that whenever his face was in repose it was sad. ” 

Lady Chevenix was quite silent for a few minutes, and 
then she said : 

“ Did Mrs. Clayburn tell you who the lady was ?” 

“No, it is no one near here, I think,” answered Miss 
Hethcote. “She did not say very much, but it was just 
what I had thought myself. I said to myself the very first 
night that I saw him, ‘ That man has had some great sorrow 
in his life. ’ ” 

“I have noticed nothing in him to make me think that,” 
said Lady Chevenix. 

“ You see so many people that it has escaped you. I am 
quite sure that he has wasted all the love of his noble life 
on some one quite undeserving of it. I have an instinct 
that tells me so. ” 

Lady Chevenix stood up before her, all pale and trem- 
bling. 

“My dear Marian,” she said, “never speak to me of this 


202 


WEAKER TEAK A WOMAN, 


again. Some one else will tell you if I do not. It was I 
whom Felix Lonsdale loved ; it was I who gave him up to 
marry Sir Owen. Hush ! Do not cry for me. I deserve it 
all, and much more ; but, Marian, never talk to me of Felix 
Lonsdale again. We will go now, dear. The bell has rung 
for luncheon. ” 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

MAJOR RAWSON. 

“Violet,” said Sir Owen to his wife, “I want you to give 
a garden-party ; they are much in vogue. There could be 
no more beautiful time for one than during this lovely 
weather. The grounds look superb ; we have not a tree 
that is not in full leaf. Send out your invitations to-day. ” 

‘‘ I will do so with pleasure,” replied Lady Chevenix, and 
Marian Hethcote, who was present, appeared delighted. 

“You are growing quite amiable. Sir Owen,” she said. 

“ If one garden-party makes me amiable, two ought to 
make me charming. ” 

“Perhaps they will do so,” said Miss Hethcote. 

“We will give one now worth remembering. I think I 
can get the military band from Oldstone — I shall try to do 
so — and we will send to London for a chef de cuisine. We 
will have everything of the very best.” 

The invitations were numerous. Lord Arlington decided 
to accept his. 

“ I do not like the baronet, ” he said, “ and 1 am grieved 
for his young wife ; still we cannot send him to Coventry. 
We must visit him sometimes — and a garden-party is better 
than a dinner-party. We need not stay so long, and we 
need not see very much of our host.” 

So Sir Owen was made happy by a polite note from 
Bramber, saying that the earl and his wife and daughter 
would be present at the gathering. 

The Lonsdales also promised to be present, and it seemed 
as though the garden-party was to be a success. 

One day Sir Owen sat with Lady Chevenix and Miss 
Hethcote after dinner discussing the coming event. He 
turned to his wife. 

“Violet,” he said, “I saw a very pretty girl the other day 
— a girl that quite took my fancy. I met her at Darcy 
Lonsdale’s office.” 

“Indeed !” returned Violet. “Who was it, Owen?” 

“ Let me see now— -y^hat did they call her ? Evelyn— Eve 


WEAKER THAN A WOJfAN. 


203 


Lester — the niece of a certain strong-minded Miss Lester 
Avho lives at the Outlands. You must know her — of course 
you know her !” 

“Yes,” was the quiet reply, “I know Eve Lester.” 

“You ought to like her, too. I quite admire her. I have 
not seen such a pretty face for some time — yours, of course, 
excepted, Miss Hethcote,” he added, laughingly. 

“Lady Che venix’s face excepted, you mean,” said Miss 
Hethcote ; “ hers, indeed, is a most beautiful face. Sir 
Owen.” 

“There is too much of pride and defiance, or rather 
pride and indifference,” he laughed, “in my lady’s face. 
Now this girl Eve Lester is as fair and sweet as a dove ; 
she reminded me of a dove, so fair and gentle is she. ” 

“Very sweet people are apt to be very inane,” said Miss 
Hethcote. 

“ Inane or not, I wish you would invite her to the party, 
Violet.” 

“ I will do so with pleasure, but I do not think she will 
come. ” 

“ Why not ?” he asked, impatiently. 

“Because, though we were friends once, we are not 
friends now,” said Lady Chevenix. 

“ Then you must be friends, Violet. I am determined to 
have her at the gathering. I liked her sweet, fair face. ” 

“ My dear Owen,- 1 would do anything to oblige you or 
please you, but I cannot make any overtures of friendship 
to Eve Lester.” 

“But I say you must, Violet.” 

“ I am sorry that I cannot. If you are determined that 
Miss Lester shall come, you must go yourself and invite 
her. ” 

“ It is the usual way if I want anything,” he said, angrily. 
“ I can have everything except the one thing most desired. 
I only wish that I had had the sense to make such a girl as 
that Lady Chevenix ; there would have been no opposition 
to my wishes then. ” 

“I am quite sure that I wish the same thing,” rejoined 
Violet, quietly. 

“ Do you ? I might have expected such a confession from 
you,” he exclaimed. 

All that was disagreeable seemed to be forgotten when 
the day of the fete arrived. The party was likely to be a 
wonderful success. All the elite of the neighborhood had 
assembled. The sun was bright, the trees were in luxuriant 


m 


WJEAKEE mAK A WOMAN", 


leaf. Had there been no other attraction the beauty of the 
grounds alone would have been one. 

Sir Owen looked proudly around ; it pleased him to see 
such great and noble persons his guests. The one whom he 
cared most to honor was Major Rawson, the great Victoria 
Cross hero of whom all England and even all France had 
been talking — Major Rawson, who was heir to a baronetcy, 
and one of the most popular men in England. Sir Owen 
was very anxious to impress him in every possible way. 
He was visiting at one of the houses in the neighborhood, 
and was received by Sir Owen with great empressement. 

‘‘I do not see Lady Chevenix, ” said the major; “lam 
unfortunate in arriving so late. ” 

“We shall find Lady Chevenix somewhere in the 
grounds, ” said Sir Owen, and he proudly introduced him 
to the county magnates. 

Suddenly the major touched his arm. 

“Who is that beautiful woman yonder?” he asked, in 
wonder. 

“ Which ?” said Sir Owen. 

“ The one in blue and white there, talking to that dark, 
handsome man. ” 

Sir Owen’s face brightened with pleasure. 

“ That is my wife, Lady Chevenix, ” he said. “ Come, and 
I will introduce you. ” 

“I had heard that Lady Chevenix was beautiful,” he re- 
plied, “ but I had not expected to see such perfection. And 
the gentleman — who is he ? His face is a striking one. ” 

He is my lawyer and agent ; his name is Felix Lonsdale. 
It is strange that on the first occasion of meeting them you 
should see them together. He was a great admirer of my 
wife years ago.” 

Major Rawson was not surprised to hear it; such a 
woman as that might have any number of admirers. 

He looked from the handsome face of the young lawyer 
to the dark, evil, dissipated countenance of the baronet by 
his side, and wondered in silence how^ any woman could 
have chosen between the two men, and have chosen so 
badly. 

Later on in the afternoon he stood by Lady Maude, and 
they were both watching Lady Chevenix. The brave soldier 
who had won his cross by acts of valor worthy of a hero 
was wonderfully impressed by Lady Chevenix. 

“I shall never forget that face,” he said, “although I may 
never see it again; How beautiful it is. And yet there is 


WEAKER TBAK A WOMAK. . ^05 

a shadow over it. It is not the face of a happy woman, is 
it, Lady Maude ?” 

“No, not quite,” she replied, hesitatingly. 

“ Is Lady Chevenix happy ?” he asked. 

She looked up at him. 

“ My dear major, what a question to ask me !” she re- 
plied. “ Who shall say which of us is happy ? I think 
Lady Chevenix loves wealth and position better than any- 
thing in the world — and she has both. ” 

“Is it well for us to have our heart’s desires?” he asked, 
gravely. “ I have often wondered about that. ” 

“ I cannot tell,” replied Lady Maude — “ I have not mine.” 

“Nor I,” said the major, “but this beautiful lady, you 
say, has hers ?” 

He thought Lady Maude singularly reticent on the sub- 
ject, the fact being that she never liked to hear Lady 
Chevenix mentioned. She could not forgive her for all she 
had made Felix suffer ; she could not bear to think of so 
worthy a young fellow having been made wretched through 
the caprice of a woman. She never liked to remember the 
day and the hour in which she had found him stricken like 
one dead by the treachery of a false woman. 

She said as little as possible about Lady Chevenix at all 
times. . She was half vexed that Major Eawson should ad- 
mire her, for, if Lady Maude had in her noble heart one 
weakness, it was a great admiration for the hero of the 
Victoria Cross. She would have liked to think that he was 
above the weakness of admiring a face merely because it 
was beautiful ; she would have felt better pleased if he had 
praised it for being noble. Lady Maude admired nobility 
more than beauty, and could not understand any man being 
a slave to beauty. 

She liked Major Eawson, and she said to herself now, in 
her exalted fashion, that he was the kind of hero she ap- 
proved of. Her noble face brightened with happiness when 
he was by her side ; she liked to hear him speak ; his pres- 
ence was a source of unwonted pleasure to her. She was 
too proud and stately to say to herself that she cared for 
him in any way, though she had a great admiration for 
him. But the day of the garden-party at Garswood was to 
be one to be rememebred with pleasure by both of them, 
for it was the day on which they first began to understand 
that each had conceived a friendship for the other. 

The brave and simple-hearted soldier could not compre- 
hend why Lady Chevenix had given up Felix Lonsdale for 


206 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


Sir Owen. Some one gave him an explanation of it, and h^ 
came back to ask Lady Maude if it were correct. 

“I wish you would not ask me,” she said, “for it is a 
story I do not like to hear or to speak of. ” 

“ Your wishes are my law on every subject,” replied the 
major. “ If you tell me that I must not ask you I will not, 
but I am deeply interested, and I do not often interest 
myself in other persons’ affairs. ” 

“ I can only tell you what happened, ” she replied, for to no 
creature living had Lady Maude ever betrayed one word of 
the confidence Felix had reposed in her. “ The occurrence, ” 
she continued, “is unfortunately very common. Lady 
Chevenix, then Miss Violet Haye — ‘beautiful Violet Haye,’ 
she was called — was engaged to marry Felix Lonsdale. I 
believe that if Sir Owen had delayed his coming for three 
months longer they would have been married. He came, 
and with his vast wealth and title soon became the lion of 
this part of the county. How she broke her troth-plight, 
and why she broke it, what excuses she made to herself or 
others made for her, I cannot tell you ; but it is quite cer- 
tain that she went to London, and that Sir Owen followed 
and married her there. ” * 

“ There can be but one explanation — she must have given 
up her lover for the baronet,” said the major, “but I cg-nnot 
imagine any woman preferring Sir Owen Chevenix to Felix 
Lonsdale.” 

“You forget that Sir Owen had, as the old song says, 
houses and lands, while Mr. Felix Lonsdale had nothing 
but his brains. ” 

The major was silent for some minutes, and then he 
asked : 

“ Is the world very hard on these sins. Lady Maude ?” 

“ I do not know. I know that society receives Lady 
Chevenix with open arms. ” 

“ And what do women call such sins ?” he asked again. 
“ What is the name they go by in this curious world called 
society ?” 

“ People give them different names — some call them pru- 
dence, some faithlessness.” 

“ What do you call such behavior ?” he asked. 

“ Mine is a plain, unfashionable term, ” said Lady Maude. 
“ I call the woman who breaks her word to her lover a jilt, 
and I call the wrong she does by its right name of perfidy. ” 

Major Eawson admired the speaker all the more for her 
frankness. 

And so Sir Owen’s garden-party passed off well, every 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. 


207 


one praising the graceful, beautiful hostess, but no one saw 
her standing later on in the evening with tears in her eyes 
watching the sunset. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. g 

RECITING POETRY. 

Sir Owen had a novel idea— it was, when the June 
quarter-day came around, to invite the principal tenants to 
dine at Garswood. Such things were done by the great 
landed proprietors of the county, and he was desirous of 
imitating them. This reminded him that there were sev- 
eral other matters that required attention — some of the 
tenants’ leases had fallen in, and to renew them would re- 
quire a long and patient search in the iron room, where all 
deeds and documents of value were preserved. There was 
another important piece of business on hand. One of the 
farmers in the neighborhood had sold some land to Sir 
Owen Chevenix, but soon after the sale he died, and his 
successors disputed his right to sell. Most of the old title- 
deeds of the Garswood estate required careful perusing, so 
Sir Owen invited Darcy Lonsdale to stay for a few days at 
Garswood. It would be much easier, he thought, for him 
to read all the various papers there than to have them 
taken to his office. 

Mr. Lonsdale thought so, too, and promised to ride over 
to the Hall, but shortly before the appointed time some 
important law business called for his presence in London. 

“ I must go, ” he said to Felix, “ and you will have to take 
my place at Garswood — no one else can do it. What do 
you say, Felix ? If you dislike it, I will give up my London 
engagement, but I do not think it can make any difference 
to you. What do you say ?” And the elder man looked 
anxiously into the face of his son. 

Felix was silent for a few minutes, and then he said, 
with a frank smile : 

“ It can’t mc*,tter, father ; I go as a man of business, not 
as a friend. I will do it with pleasure. It would be as well 
for you just to write and hint to Sir Owen that he might 
prefer you.” » 

“I do not think he would,” returned Darcy Lonsdale ; ' 
“you are decidedly his favorite. Felix.” 

Mr. Lonsdale was right. Sir Owen was much pleased at 
the change. He passed th^ Iwyei’S letter to his wife, apd 
elio repd it» 


208 


WEAKEH THAN A WOMAN 


“I am very d] eased,” he said. “Felix is cleverer than 
his father, and I like him. See that he has a nice room, 
and that his comforts are well attended to.” 

She made some vague reply — it seemed to her that 
heaven and earth were about to meet. That Felix should 
ever be under her roof as her guest seemed to her a most 
wonderful thing. How should she receive him ? W ould 
he soften a little in his manner to her ? How fervently she 
hoped that Sir Owen would treat her, if not kindly, at least 
with some outward semblance of respect before her old 
lover. She was glad that Marian Hethcote was still with 
her — it would have been awkward to have met him alone. 

When Sir Owen had quitted the room Marian placed her 
hands upon Lady Chevenix’s shoulders and looked into 
her face. 

“Tell me,” she said, “do you like this arrangement? 
Does it please or vex you ?” 

Lady Chevenix met her gaze with a calm smile. 

“ It does neither,” she replied, and then Miss Hethcote 
understood that the subject of Felix Lonsdale was not to be 
reopened between them. 

Lady Chevenix never forgot the evening when Felix 
came. It seemed to her that everything looked the brighter 
and the better for his coming. Sir Owen had given orders 
that the dinner should be delayed until he arrived. 

Felix Lonsdale and Lady Chevenix met with seeming in- 
difference. She looked very beautiful ; she wore a dinner- 
dress of white lace, with lilies of the valley in her hair. 
She held out her hand in greeting to him. 

“I am very glad to see you, Mr. Lonsdale,” she said. “I 
hope you will have a few pleasant days with us.” 

Miss Hethcote next had something to say to him, and 
then Sir Owen entered the room. He was most effusive in 
his greeting. He was delighted to see his guest ; he hoped 
he would make himself quite at home, and enjoy himself 
as much as possible. 

Violet could not help contrasting the two men as they 
stood for that one moment side by side — Sir Owen’s awk- 
ward figure and coarse face with the grand beauty of Felix 
Lonsdale, the nobility of the untitled man with the com- 
monplaceness of the titled one. The contrast was both 
sharp and strong ; she felt it keenly. 

Then they went in to dinner. Sir Owen was in one of his 
best humors, and everything went off well. For so much 
Lady Chevenix was thankful ; every hour spent without 
an outbreak was a gain to her. 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAK 


209 


“You will give us this one evening, Mr. Lonsdale,” said 
Sir Owen. Enjoy yourself a little before you begin to 
work. ” 

It was a matter of perfect indifference to him. If he had 
consulted his own inclination he would have preferred to 
begin work at once, but he could hardly be impolite enough 
to say so. 

Sir Owen liked to sleep after he had dined. Felix de- 
clined to take wine, and the baronet, thinking in his heart 
that the young lawyer was a simpleton for it, went into 
the drawing-room with him, and then fell asleep. Before 
he closed his eyes he said : 

“Lady Chevenix, Mr. Lonsdale will like to see the 
grounds, I am sure. You and Miss Hethcote will both 
enjoy a stroll. ” 

He never once thought that he was submitting his young 
wife to a most deadly peril — the peril of a great tempta- 
tion. He never thought of Felix Lonsdale as of one who 
had been his wife’s lover. He had been engaged to her — 
that was a well-known fact ; but, so soon as he, the vic- 
torious knight, had appeared, he had retired from the con- 
test defeated, and there was an end of it all. He con- 
sidered that he had raised his wife so completely above all 
her past life, that he had taken her so completely out of 
her old sphere, that nothing which had interested her then 
could interest her now — he never pondered the fact that 
Felix Lonsdale, the rising lawyer, the man of promise, the 
most clever and skillful practitioner in the county, was 
his wife’s old lover. So he lay down in perfect content 
while he sent his young wife out into the lovely summer 
gloaming with her old lover. 

They walked on, all three together, saying little, but 
thinking perhaps all the more. They passed through the 
pleasure grounds ; they lingered among the roses and the 
lily-blooms ; they watched the gold fish in the fountain. 
The air was balmy, sweet, and fragrant with the odor ©f 
flowers. 

“ Let us go on to the park, ” said Marian Hethcote ; “ it 
will be very pleasant there.” 

They passed through the shrubbery and entered the 
park. The beautiful fragrant gloaming had set in; the 
water of the lake was tinged with crimson and gold ; a 
lovely light lay over the trees ; there ‘was a faint murmur 
as the wind swayed the branches of the trees and stirred 
the leaves. The peace and beauty, the loveliness and re- 
pose, touched them. 


210 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


“Shall we sit down here,” said Lady Chevenix, “by the 
lake side, and watch the light die out over the water ?” 

They sat down, the two ladies side by side, Felix, near- 
est to Miss Hethcote, at their feet. Marian was talking 
gayly to him ; Lady Chevenix said but little. He who once 
loved her with such a passionate love looked at her. No 
dream of poet or painter could ever have been more fair. 
The evening light fell upon her face, which was raised to 
the sky as she watched the crimson clouds ; it touched her 
golden hair and was reflected by the rich jewels that she 
wore. She had thrown a white lace shawl over her white 
neck and bare arms ; a corner of it was over her head, and 
the shadow of it softened her features. She listened to the 
lively sallies of her girl-friend, wondering if she should 
ever again be so happy, so light of heart. 

Then Marian sang a quaint little song — a ballad telling 
the story of a knight who had ridden away to the Holy 
Land, leaving a girl-bride who died while he was away — a 
sweet, sad song, just suited to the hour and the gloaming. 

“ Now, Lady Chevenix, ” she said, “ you must sing for us, 
too; sing that beautiful song you were practicing this 
morning.” 

“I was not practicing,” returned Lady Chevenix. “I 
was trying to put some words to an air I think very sad 
and sweet. If you would like to hear it, I will sing it. 
Would you care to hear it, Mr. Lonsdale?” 

He murmured some commonplace words about his hav- 
ing always liked good music. She smiled bitterly to her- 
self, and then, in a low, sad, sweet voice, she sang these 
words : 


“ ‘Yes, dear, our love is slain — 

In the cold grave for evermore it lies, 

Never to wake again 
Or light our sorrow with its starry eyes; 

And so regret is vain. 

“ ‘ We should have seen it shine 
Long years beside us. Time and Death might try 
To touch that love divine, 

Whose strength could ev’ry other stroke defy 
Save — only mine ! 

‘“No longing can restore 
Our dead again. Vain are the tears we weep ; 

And vainly w’e deplore 

Our buried love. Its grave lies dark and deep 
between us eyeymore/ ” 


WEAKER TKAK A WOMAlf, 


‘211 


Her voice died away in a low, sweet murmur that was 
like the love-plaint of a bird, and they were silent for some 
minutes, none caring to break the spell. Then Felix looked 
at her. 

“ I remember those words, ” he said ; “ they are taken 
from a poem called ‘ Lost Alice, ’ by Adelaide Anne Proc- 
ter. I gave you the book, I think. Lady Chevenix. ” 

That was the first time he had ever alluded to the past ; 
he had until now always treated her as a stranger — as a 
lady to whom he had been introduced for the first time by 
Sir Owen Chevenix. 

Her face brightened when she heard it ; it seemed to her 
that the broken chain had been taken up in those simple 
words. 

“Yes, you gave it to me,” she acknowledged; “and I 
know every word of the poem by heart — I have read it so 
often. ” 

He looked up in surprise. 

“Indeed !” he said. “ I thought that you did not care for 
poetry at all. Lady Chevenix. ” 

“ I fancied that I did not, but I was mistaken. During 
these later years I have learned to value and understand 
many things that were once like so many dead letters to 
me. ” 

“ I wish, ” said Marian Hethcote, “that we could under- 
stand everything at once. As it is, we learn little quickly ; 
it takes long years to teach us the simplest lessons, and by 
the time they are learned we must die. As my favorite 
poet says ; 

“ ‘We live — we love; and then 
Stone dead we lie. 

O Life, is all thy song 
Endure and die ?’ 

How much more pleasant it would be if we could master 
everything at once. What mistakes and blunders we 
make. I read the other day of a great and wise man who, 
when he came to die, said, ‘ My life has been all a mistake. ’ 
Mr. Lonsdale, I am growing quite sad ; it is your turn to 
sing for us.” 

“ I cannot sing, but I will repeat some verses that I think 
very beautiful, if you would like to hear them. ” 

“ Whose are they ?” asked Lady Chevenix. 

“They are Miss Procter’s,” he replied, and h^ turned his 
face away from her while he recited them. 

It seemed to Lady Chevenix as though the wind fell and 


212 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. 


all nature were hushed to listen. There was no passion, 
no regret, in the low, rich tones — they were clear and sweet 
and eloquent — but each word as it fell in the fragrant 
gloaming seemed to burn itself on her heart and brain. 

“ The poem is called ‘ Parting, ’ ” said Felix, “ and is so 
beautiful in itself that it cannot fail to please. 

“ ‘ 'VVitlioiit one bitter feeling let ns part ; 

And for the years in which yonr love has shed 
A radiance like a glory round my head 
I thank you — yes, I thank you from my heart. 

* I thank you — and no grief is in these tears ; 

I thank you, not in bitterness, but truth, 

For the fair vision that adorned my youth 
And glorified so many happy years. 

‘ Yet how much more I thank you that you tore 
At length the vail your hand had woven away, 

"Which told my idol Tvas a thing of clay, 

And false the altar I had knelt before ! 

‘‘ ‘ I thank you that you taught me the stern truth 
None other could have told and I believed — 

That vain had been my love and I deceived, 

And wasted all the purpose of my youth. 

“ ‘I thank you that your hand dashed down the shrine 
Wherein my idol worship I had paid ; 

Else had I never known a soul was made 
To serve and worship only the Divine. 

** ‘ I thank you for a terrible awaking — 

And, if reproach seemed hidden in my pain, 

And sorrow seemed to cry on your disdain, 

Know that my blessing lay in your forsaking. 

‘ Farewell forever now — in peace we part ; 

And should an idle vision of my tears 
Arise before your soul in after years, 

Kemember that I thank you from my heart.* ** 

So clearly, one by one, with cruel distinctness, the words 
sounded in Violet’s ears. She knew, she understood that 
that was what he would say to her ; in his mind there could 
never be even the faintest renewal of their past friendship, 
in his heart he thanked her that his unhappy love, his 
great abiding sorrow, had taught him many noble lessons. 
She understood — he had said it delicately and kindly, but 
he had meant it — that the whole past was buried for him ; 
he thanked her that she had taught him to suffer, and 
suffer in silent strength. 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


213 


She was quite silent for many minutes after he had 
finished ; it was Marian who talked to him and made him 
recite for them again and again. 

The sun had set, the crimson and gold had faded from 
the water, a gray shade had fallen over it — all was quiet, 
calm, peaceful. Lady Chevenix rested her head against the 
gnarled trunk of an old tree ; the peace and repose were 
novel to her. Presently a slight sound in the distance 
startled her. 

“ What is that ?” she said. 

“‘It was only the deer that were feeding 
In a herd on the clover grass.’ ” 

sang Marian, and Felix looked up with a smile. 

“I know that,” he said. “You are quoting from a ballad 
called ‘ Hush. ’ Strange to say, I was thinking of it a short 
time since. The words were running through my brain. ” 

“ They have run through my heart, ” remarked Marian, 
“often and often. I am matter-of-fact myself, but that 
song always brings tears to my eyes. Kepeat it for us, Mr. 
Lonsdale. ” 

“ I will. There is something in the time that suits the 
words. The light is dying in the sky, the sun has set, the 
flowers are sleeping, the wood-pigeons are silent, the air is 
full of dreams. 

“ ‘ “I can scarcely hear,” she mnrmnred, 

“ For my heart beats loud and fast ; 

But surely, in the far, far distance, 

I can hear a sound at last ? 

“ It is only the reapers singing 

As they carry home their sheaves, 

And the evening breeze has risen, 

And rustles the dying leaves.” 

“ ‘ “ Listen ! There are voices talking !” 

* Calmly still she strove to speak, 

Yet her voice grew faint and trembling, 

And the red flushed in her cheek. 

“It is only the children playing. 

Below, now their work is done. 

And they laugh that their eyes are dazzled 
By the rays of the setting sun.” 

“ ‘ Fainter grew her voice, and weaker. 

As with anxious eyes she cried — 

“ Down the avenue of chestnuts 
I can hear a horseman ride !” 

“ It was only the deer that were feeding 
In a herd on the clover grass ; 


214 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. 


They were startled and fled to the thicket 
As they saw the reapers pass.” 

“ ‘Now the night arose in silence, 

Birds lay in their leafy nest, 

And the deer couched in the forest. 

And the children were at rest. 

There was only a sound of weeping 
From watchers around a bed — 

But rest to the weary spirit. 

Peace to the quiet dead.’ ” 

There was silence as the last words fell, and Lady Cheve- 
nix bowed her head, so as to hide her tears. The gray 
shadows fell darker. 

A loud voice roused them. 

“ Where are you ? Where have you hidden yourselves ? 
Surely a ramble among the flowers does not mean an en- 
campment by the lake.” 

Through the clear fragrant air came the odor of a cigar, 
and Sir Owen, looking very cross, suddenly appeared be- 
fore them. 

“ I could not find you anywhere, ” he said, in a sullen 
tone. “ You must have hidden yourselves on purpose.” 

Lady Chevenix did not answer him, because she knew 
that it was needless to do so. Miss Hethcote was equal to 
the occasion. 

“ If we had wanted to hide, ” she said, “ we should have 
hidden. As we did not, we remained here. If you are 
going to be cross. Sir Owen, do not spoil an agreeable 
party by joining it.” 

He laughed then, and sat down with them, but the 
beauty, the poetry and peace, were all gone. He began to 
tell of a fight he had seen between a King Charles’ spaniel 
and a toy terrier, laughing heartily at it, and wondering 
they did not laugh also. It was an exquisite joke to him to 
tell how the little King Charles lay dying — and even in 
dying tried to lick his hand. 

“Do you enjoy seeing anything suffer, Sir Owen,” asked 
Miss Hethcote. 

“ I think a dog-fight, or anything of that kind, capital 
sport,” he answered. 

“ But the unfortunate creatures must feel. ” 

“Feel!” sneered Sir Owen. “What nonsense! Foxes 
were made to be hunted, rats to be worried, dogs to fight. 
Why should they feel ?” 

With a shrug of her shoulders she turned away from 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN, 


I 

215 


him. Sir Owen laughed again ; he rather enjoyed a dispute 
with a pretty girl. 

“ I am not one of your sentimentalists,” he said. “Now, 
Mr Lonsdale could give you poems by the yard, I am sure. ” 

“ I should be very sorry to do so,” remarked Felix ; “at 
the same time I give the preference to poetry rather than 
to dog-fights.” 

Sir Owen laughed again ; in his own opinion he was a 
most manly man, and Felix most insignificant. Felix arose 
from his seat and strolled away ; he felt disgust almost 
amounting to hatred for this coarse, vulgar, repulsive man. 

“Do not leave us, Mr. Lonsdale,” said Sir Owen. “I 
will take Miss Hethcote indoors, and you can escort her 
ladyship — though she looks decidedly sullen. ” 

It was useless for Lady Chevenix to say that she had no 
thought of being sullen ; when Sir Owen had once asserted 
a thing he maintained it. She looked up into the face of 
Felix Lonsdale with a smile that made his heart beat faster 
than usual. 

“That is not one of my faults,” she said. “I do not re- 
member having ever been sullen in my life ; I have seldom 
been out of temper.” 

He remembered the sweet sunny temper that had never 
known cloud or variableness, but offered no remark — he 
had resolved to himself so often that nothing should induce 
him to talk to her about the past. They walked toward the 
house through the deepening shadows, and said but little to 
each other. 

When they reached the Hall Lady Chevenix was grieved 
to find a telegram from Mrs. Hethcote. Some friends had 
arrived quite unexpectedly, and she wished Marian to re- 
turn at once. Felix wondered why the mistress of Gars- 
wood should turn so white when she had read the telegram 
— why she should place her hands upon the girl’s shoulder 
and say to her so sadly : 

“ What shall I do without you, Marian ?” 

“ I will come back to you as soon as I can, dear Lady 
Chevenix,” replied the girl, “and in the meantime Mr. 
Lonsdale will be here. ” 

Afterward, when Lady Chevenix had gone to give orders 
about her journey. Miss Hethcote said, suddenly, to Felix : 

“I shall go away much happier for leaving you here.” 

“ I shall be here for a few days only, ” returned Felix. 
“ Why should you be happy about my being here ? I do not 
understand. ” 

“I may speak freely to you,” said Miss Hethcote ; “you 


216 


MmAKER THAN A WOMAN, 


know them, and you belong in some measure to them. 1 
may tell you that Lady Chevenix lives in mortal fear of 
her husband.” 

“ Why ?” asked Felix. 

“ He has been very violent to her many times. It is not 
long since she had to send for Mrs. Haye, being afraid of 
losing her life. She has refused to be left alone since then. 
That is why I have been with her so long, and why I am 
glad you are here.” 

“But,” said Felix, “he loves her — he must love her.” 

“ I say nothing about that. He may love her, or he may 
not, but, when he is half mad with drink, she has reason to 
be alarmed. ” 

“ I cannot think that even then he would hurt her,” said 
Felix. 

“Well, it is very pleasant to have such cheerful views of 
things. I should be glad if I could share your faith, but 
unfortunately I have seen bruises on her arms and marks 
on her face, such as, if I had been a man, would have made 
me feel inclined to call Sir Owen out. ” 

She saw the handsome face of the man before her grow 
pale with emotion. She saw his strong hands tremble and 
his fingers clench tightly. She talked until the storm of 
passion had passed over him. 

“ I cannot bear to think of any woman being ill-used, ” he 
said ; “ it is one of the things that irritates me and makes 
me angry with an anger that frightens me. But Lady 
Chevenix is so gentle, so amiable, I cannot understand any 
man being unkind to her. ” 

“I can understand anything Sir Owen does,” rejoined 
Miss Hethcote. “ Mr. Lonsdale, you will be kind to her ?” 
she pleaded. “ Believe me that a peasant-woman working 
in the fields, or a factory girl in a mill, is happier than 
Lady Chevenix of Garswood. ” 

“I am grieved to hear it‘” he said, and then Miss Heth- 
cote left him. 

She went away early the next morning, never dreaming 
of what would happen before she saw Garswood and its 
mistress again. 


CHAPTEE XXXIX. 

THE BLOW IN THE FACE. 

On the morning after Miss Hethcote ’s departure Sir Owen 
did not come down to breakfast, but Felix met his valet 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


217 


with some soda water and brandy. The young lawyer de- 
scended to the breakfast-room, where Lady Chevenix 
awaited him. She looked very fair and young in her pretty 
morning-dress. She was so. pleased to see him ; her face 
brightened, her eyes met his with such a glad light ; she 
could not be cold and formal to him. 

“ How true you are to your colors. Lady Chevenix !” he 
said “ Blue and white — I hardly remember to have seen 
you wear anything else. ” 

“You will own that they are pretty colors, will you not?” 
she asked, with a smile — one of those charming smiles 
that stir a man’s heart and pulse. 

He sat down at the breakfast-table with her, and he 
asked himself had fate ever placed another man in such a 
predicament before. 

“ See, ” she said, “ I remember your tastes. You like tea 
better than coffee, and you like fruit. These strawberries 
have just been gathered ; they have the dew on them. ” 

She talked to him during breakfast, so gayly, so kindly, 
but, when he looked at her, there was something almost 
pathetic in her eyes — something that in spite of her bril- 
liant beauty, was half sad. Then, when they had finished 
breakfast, a servant came in to say that Sir Owen would 
join them in a few minutes, and would take Mr. Lonsdale 
to the strong-room. 

The long French windows were open, and great heavy 
red roses came peeping in. Lady Chevenix went to them ; 
Felix followed her, and they stood talking together. In 
some vague way the years seemed to have fallen from them, 
the terrible past for a few moments was forgotten. He was 
like the Felix of old, she like beautiful Violet Haye. They 
had just a few happy minutes, during which they spoke 
only of the roses before them and the pleasant prospect. 
Then Sir Owen came in, and it was as though the whole 
face of the heavens had changed. 

The baronet and his legal adviser went away together, 
and Felix spent the whole of the day in the strong-room, 
reading documents and papers of all kinds. He did not see 
Sir Owen and his wife again until dinner, and thus the 
first day of his visit passed quietly enough. 

On the second the tenants came to dine at the Hall, and 
the grand banqueting-room in the western wing was thrown 
open. The dinner passed off well, and the tenants drank Sir 
Owen’s health with noisy cheers. Nor were they much less 
enthusiastic about Felix, when his health was proposed. 


‘218 WEAKEB THAN A WOMAN 

After a pleasant day they left Garswood early in the even- 
ing. 

Lady Chevenix had been alone all day; the servants 
were in attendance on the numerous guests, and in the 
evening she asked for tea, thinking that Sir Owen and Felix 
would like to join her. Sir Owen, who had drank more 
brandy in a few hours than another man would have drank 
in a week, made some observation about her ladyship’s tea, 
which, when repeated by the footman in the servants’ hall, 
caused great amusement. Felix was sorry to decline, but 
he had some hours of hard work yet in the strong-room ; 
the leases were all to be signed on the morrow. 

When the visitors were all gone he returned to the 
strong-room and resumed his work. Lady Chevenix went 
to him to persuade him to let her send some tea there, and 
he consented. He looked at her, as she stood in that 
darkened rooni, in her evening dress of white silk and trail- 
ing lace. She wore a superb suite of opals, which shone 
with the “fire that lives in gems.” She looked like a dream 
of beauty in that dull, gloomy room. 

She sent him some tea, and asked him to come to the 
drawing-room when he had finished, and he promised to 
do so. When she returned Sir Owen lay on one of the 
couches, fast asleep. 

She was thankful to see him asleep, and hoped that he 
might wake up quite himself. She drew down the blinds 
and darkened the room. Who could tell what she suffered 
in her heart, this fair, stately woman, who shrank so 
keenly from all stigma of disgrace, her daily, hourly dread 
lest her husband should do something that would entail 
everlasting shame upon them, lest any one should see him 
in those moments when he was quite unfit to be seen ? 
What a double life she led, this brilliant' and beautiful 
woman — before the world all gayety, smiles, and anima- 
tion, in her own heart always a terrible weight of anxiety. 

For this evening at least she was safe. She thought he 
would wake up himself, and then they would spend a 
happy hour with Felix, so she watched lest sound or light 
should disturb him until Mr. Lonsdale joined them. 

He awoke at last, but the sun had long set, and the fra- 
grant silence of night lay over the earth. She had cooling 
fruit that was pleasant to eye and taste ready for him, 
she had everything that was refreshing, but no stimulant. 
He pushed aside the purple grapes and the crimson straw- 
berries. 

“ Where is the brandy ?” he asked her. “ The idea of 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


219 


offering a man such things as those,” he exclaimed. “Ring 
for the brandy !” 

She dared not refuse — moreover, refusal would have 
been of no use. She rang the bell and gave the message, 
but, before the brandy came, with sweet, womanly tact, 
she had lured him from the room, hoping that he would 
forget it. She walked through the long corridors for some 
minutes, talking to him, then he suddenly remembered 
Felix, and said nothing would satisfy him unless he left his 
work and joined them. He went to persuade him, while 
Lady Chevenix ordered the lamps in the drawing-room to 
be lighted. 

The two gentlemen returned together, and they played 
for some time at cribbage, a game. for which Sir Owen had 
a great liking. Suddenly he remembered the brandy, and 
asked for it. Lady Chevenix dreaded its coming ; she said 
the evening was warm, and begged of him to take some 
iced tea instead. He laughed at her. 

“ Listen to her ladyship !” he cried. “ Iced tea ! The 
very name of it makes me shudder. I want brandy — noth- 
ing else. ” 

She remonstrated again, but very mildly. She felt that 
she could bear anything better than this, that the man she 
had forsaken should see in his true colors the man she had 
married. 

Those last words proved too much for Sir Owen. He 
swore roundly at her. What business of hers was it, he 
asked, if he wanted a sea of brandy. Let her remember 
herself — remember from what position he had taken her, 
and not attempt to dictate tq him ; he would not endure it. 
She tried to soothe and conciliate him ; she might as well 
have tried to soothe a panther. 

The brandy was brought, but even then he did not re- 
cover his good humor. Felix was miserable. He longed to 
put down his cards and say good-night, but he saw the face 
of Lady Chevenix growing white, and he was afraid to 
leave her. Miss Hethcote had told him of Sir Owen’s vio- 
lence. He would not leave her to the mercy of that violent 
man, yet every moment he remained with them was a tor- 
ture to him. Sir Owen had no moderation. In vain his 
wife and Felix engaged him with cards and in conversa- 
tion. Despite everything he filled and replenished his 
tumbler. At length the alcohol began to take such an effect 
upon him that Lady Chevenix deemed it prudent to rise. 

“It is growing late,” she said ; “we had better put aside 
the cards,” 


220 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. 


“ Yes, ” agreed Felix ; “lam tired. ” , . , . 

He had no time to finish his speech. Sir Owen did not 
seem to hear it. He merely turned with a scowl to his 
wife, and cried, in a voice of thunder : i 

“ Sit down, and go on with the game. ” 

Felix saw that she trembled in every limb, yet she kept 
all sign of emotion from her face ; nothing but its pallor i 
betrayed her fear. She sat down, but the young lawyer’s 
spirit was roused. He threw the cards upon the table. 

“ Lady Chevenix is very amiable to go on playing, he 
said ; “ I shall not. It is late, and quite time to leave off. 

Without a word, and so suddenly that there was no time 
to prevent it, Sir Owen turned and struck his wife in the 

“Take that,” he said, “and mind you do not interfere 
with me again !” 

The next moment a pair of strong arms had seized him 
and had literally thrown him across the room. His face 
white, his whole body trembling with passion, Felix stood 
over him. 

“ If you touch her ladyship again, if you lay your cow- 
ardly hands upon her,” he cried, “ I will kill you !” 

Then he turned to Violet. She stood trembling, with a 
great red mark across her lovely pale face — a mark that 
burned like a hot iron. 

“ Oh, Lady Chevenix,” he said, “ I am so sorry ! I ought 
to have been quicker, more on my guard. Are you much 

hurt ?” . T. • 

She raised her face with that terrible bruise on it to his, 
and he saw great tears in her eyes. For a moment the old 
impulse of love was strong upon him, and he longed to 
shelter the golden head, every hair of which was dear to 
him, on his breast ; then he recollected himself, and said. 


“ I shall never forgive myself that this has happened. If 
I had been quicker—” He broke off abruptly, for his wrath 
was rising again. “ I shall kill him, ” he cried, ‘ if he 
touches you !” 

She looked up at him; the bruised face touched his 
heart, and he turned away. Sir Owen was lying just where 
he had thrown him. He went over to him ; the baronet had 
most composedly fallen asleep. 

“Thank Heaven,” he said, “that I did not kill him— that 
I did not do him some deadly harm. Shall I ring for the 
servants ?” he asked Lady Chevenix, and he never forgot 
her answer. 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


221 


“ If you would not mind it, ” she said, ‘‘ I should be so 
thankful if you would place him in a chair ; I do not like 
the servants to see all that happens. ” 

He raised Sir Owen, who made some violent plunges the 
while, and placed him in a chair. The baronet fell placidly 
asleep again, and Felix went back to Lady Chevenix. 

“You must apply something to your face,” he said, “or it 
will be black to-morrow. ” 

She smiled and raised the white lace that fell over her 
arm. He saw a long dark bruise, the mark of a cruel grasp 
that had held the delicate arm in an iron vise. 

“ I am seldom without a mark, ” she told him, “ but I do 
not often find them on my face. ” 

He looked sorrowfully at the graceful woman who had 
preferred money to love, and had suffered so terribly for 
her choice ; he longed to say something kind to her, but 
prudence forbade him. She held out her hand to him, 
and he saw how it trembled. She smiled, and he never 
forgot the smile. 

“Some day,” she said, “he will most probably kill me. If 
he does you will always remember that I — I was sorry I 
had grieved you, Felix.” 

“ I will remember, ” he returned, gravely. He held her 
hand for one moment while he bade her good night, and 
then she went away. 


CHAPTER XL. 

FEAR AND ANXIETY, 

Felix thought long and anxiously about his return from 
Garswood. He was glad that he had treated Sir Owen as 
he did ; he said to himself that he should have been less 
than a man had he not acted as he did. Yet it was not 
likely that after what had passed he could remain under 
Sir Owen’s roof ; neither did he desire to do so. It was 
torture to him to see Violet ill-treated ; he could not bear 
it — nor could he interfere to prevent it. 

Moreover, he believed it to be quite impossible that after 
the fracas Sir Owen could continue his business relations 
with himself and his father ; a man might forgive much, 
but knocking a person down was a serious matter. So, 
when the sunshine came peeping into his room, Felix had 
quite made up his mind that that would be his last day 
at the Hall. 

His ideas were confirmed when a servant, tapping at his 


222 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


door, said that Sir Owen would be glad to see Mr. Lonsdale 
in his own room. That, he believed, was the prelude to his 
dismissal. 

“Never mind,” said Felix to himself ; “if I were placed 
in such circumstances again I should do just the same, and 
perhaps more.” 

He went immediately to the baronet’s room. As he 
passed from one room to another he could not help admir- 
ing the magnificence and luxury of the house ; it was 
simply superb, and the morning sun shining through the 
windows, made it more beautiful still. He little guessed 
what that same sun would see before it set. 

He entered Sir Owen’s room quite anticipating, and in- 
deed half hoping for his dismissal, but his heart was 
touched when he saw the trembling figure before him. Sir 
Owen, fiushed and excited with drink, was bad enough ; Sir 
Owen, in the morning light, trembling, weak, and haggard, 
was worse. Felix quietly awaited the beginning of the 
storm, but, to his surprise. Sir Owen held out his hand. 
The young lawyer would not see it ; he felt that he could 
never touch a hand that had been raised against a woman. 

“ I am really very sorry, Lonsdale,” Sir Owen began. “ I 
am afraid I was too much excited over the tenants’ dinner, 
and forgot myself. I am very sorry. I hope that I was not 
offensive to you ?” 

“ He has forgotten what happened,” thought Felix to him- 
self. “ I must tell him. ” 

“You were not offensive to me. Sir Owen,” he said, “but 
you behaved with the greatest brutality to Lady Chevenix. 
You struck her with such violence that I was compelled to 
interfere. ” 

There was something ruefully comic about the baronet’s 
face. 

“ I ought to be much obliged to you, I am sure, ” he said. 
“ I love my wife very much, and cannot understand how 
I could have so forgotten myself. But I am very unfortu- 
nate when I exceed my usual allowance of wine, Lonsdale. 
You will shake hands and be friends?” 

“ I am willing to forget my share in the business. Sir 
Owen. But excuse my shaking hands with you. ” 

The baronet laughed uneasily. 

“You are very particular,” he said, and then turned the 
conversation. 

Felix, despite his disgust, felt a great pity for him ; it 
was not lessened when he saw his valet come to him with a 
bottle and a glass. 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


223 


“Take less of that, Sir Owen,” he said, “or you will kill 
yourself. ” 

“Well, I have to die, and I may just as well die taking 
what I like as taking medicine. Some men have more to 
live for than I have. I am very fond of my wife, but she 
does not care much about me, and I have no child. I really 
believe, Lonsdale, that I should be quite a different man if I 
had a child.” 

“You have plenty to live for. Sir Owen. You have your 
duty to do on earth, yet more, you must think of a future 
life,” said Felix. 

“ I can pay other men to do my duty, and, as to a future 
life — well, I have not been able to decide about that yet. ” 

“ It is high time you did so, ” said Felix, gravely, and Sir 
Owen laughed. 

“ I have no thought of dying yet, Lonsdale ; indeed, I 
dare not die if all that the parsons say is true. Let us talk 
about something more sensible. Are you going to work 
again to-day ?” 

‘‘ The work has to be done, and I suppose I must do it. 
The leases have to be signed this morning. ” 

“ I will sign them before I go, ” said Sir Owen. “ I am 
goipg out this morning, because I do not feel like myself. 
I aril out of spirits ; a cloud is hanging over me. I shall 
have a good gallop, and see if I cannot clear away the 
heaviness. ” 

Felix went to his work, which on this morning was in 
the library, and before he had been there very long Lady 
Chevenix entered. 

“ I did not know that you were here, ” she said. “ Shall I 
be in the way ? I have some letters to write. ” 

He placed a chair for her, and then looked at her face. 
Across the soft cheek was the mark of a violent blow. 

“ It is not very painful, ” she said. 

Presently Sir Owen came in to sign the papers. He 
seemed very much ashamed of himself when he saw the 
bruise on his wife’s face. He took her to the great oriel 
window, and they stood there for some time talking ; then 
Lady Chevenix came back to her place, and Sir Owen went 
out of the room. 

Violet and Felix went on writing in silence, when there 
came a tap at the door. Sir Owen’s groom wanted to know 
if he might speak to her ladyship for a few minutes. 

Lady Chevenix bade him come in. The man stood before 
her, cap in hand. 

“My lady,” he said, “I beg your pardon; I must make 


224 


WEAKEH THAN A WOMAN ^ 


bold enough to ask you to interfere. Sir Owen he will go 
out riding this morning. That is all good and fair, my 
lady, but he will ride the new hunter Plantagenet, and he 
is no more fit for it than a child. ” 

“You had better tell him so, Martin,” returned Lady 
Chevenix. 

“ My lady, I have told him, over and over again. The 
more I tell him the more he will go. ” 

Lady Chevenix looked helplessly at Felix. 

“Mr. Lonsdale,” she said, “will you go and try to per- 
suade Sir Owen not to ride that horse? It is a highly met- 
tled animal, and he has never ridden it yet. ” 

Martin touched his forehead to Felix. 

“ If you could persuade the master to stay at home this 
morning, you would do him a service, sir,” he said. “In- 
deed, my lady,” he continued, turning to Lady Chevenix, 
“ Sir Owen could hardly manage Bonnie Bess this morning, 
his hands are so shaky. ” 

“ Thank you, Martin, ” she responded ; “ it was very 
thoughtful of you to come to me. Mr. Lonsdale will follow 
you. ” 

When the groom had retired she went up to Felix and 
laid her hand upon his arm. 

“I know that you will do your best for me,” she said, 
pleadingly. 

“You may be sure that I will,” returned Felix, and then 
he went away. 

He might as well have appealed to a rock. All that he 
said. Sir Owen laughed to scorn. 

“Something happen tome?” he cried. “Yes, I know 
what it will be. I shall come home cured of the ‘ blues. ’ I 
am going to gallop dull care away, and Plantagenet shall 
help me. ” 

Felix looked attentively at the horse. 

“ I was never afraid of a horse yet, ” he said, “ but I would 
not ride that one. ” 

Lady Chevenix, finding that Felix did not return, came 
to see how matters were progressing. She gave a little cry 
of alarm when she saw the great powerful hunter, and her 
husband preparing to mount him. 

“ Owen, ” she cried, “ my dear, do not attempt it. Pray, 
pray do not. ” 

He felt rather flattered by her evident anxiety, and 
ouched her face with his lips. 

“Good-by, Violet. Do not make a scene. I have said 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


225 


that I will ride Plantagenet, and I mean to do so ; nothing 
on earth shall prevent me. ” 

She cried aloud in her distress. Felix interposed. 

“I should enjoy a gallop this fine morning, Sir Owen,” he 
said. ‘‘ Shall I go Avith you ?” 

“As my head-nurse, eh, Lonsdale? No, thank you. I 
can take care of myself very well, indeed. ” 

For more than half an hour the three — the true friend, 
the anxious Avife, and the faithful servant — reasoned in 
vain. They could never reproach themselA^es in after days 
that they had not done their best, but their Avords Avere as 
vain as the beating of tiny Avavelets against a sturdy rock. 
Sir OAven Avould ride Plantagenet, and there Avas an end of 
it. The only compromise that Lady Chevenix could effect 
was that he should take the groom Avith him. 

“If it Avill please you, Violet,” he said, “I Avill do so.” He 
thought himself very good-natured in gh^ing Avay so far. 

She liked to remember afterward that she went up to him 
and said : 

“ OAven, I Avould do anything in the world for you, if you 
Avouid give up this mad idea — anything ! Do please me 
this once. ” 

He kissed her, and then got into the saddle. 

“ I shall be back to dinner all right,” he told her. “ I may 
be rather late, for I shall ride around by Parkerly Copse. ” 

“Martin,” said Lady Chevenix to the groom, “do not 
leave your master for one moment. Do what you can. ” 

“I Avill, my lady,” he replied, “but I misdoubt me it will 
end badly.” 

With a heavy heart Lady Chevenix re-entered the house, 
and Felix Avent back to his writing. Violet retired to her 
OAAm room, to Avhile the time away Avith a book. 

The sunny hours of the beautiful day Avore on ; no cloud 
came over the smiling heavens ; yet there was a faint wail 
in the summer Avind Avhich to the Aveather-wise heralded a 
storm. The shadoAvs lengthened, and Felix had not left 
the library ; he had partaken of a biscuit and a glass of 
sherry there, as he was anxious to get his work done. He 
had completely finished by six o’clock, and on going in 
search of Sir OAven was told that he had not yet returned. 
Lady Chevenix was in her room. He would have been glad 
if he could have gone home then; he did not care to re* 
main for the long formal dinner and the long formal even* 
ing. Still he was unAvilling to leave Lady Chevenix until 
her husband returned. 

The first bell rang, and he went to his room. Sir Owen, 


226 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. 


he was told, had not returned, and her ladyship seemed 
anxious about him. After a little while Felix went into the 
drawing-room, where Lady Chevenix sat, dressed for din- 
ner, looking superbly beautiful in a dinner dress of blue 
velvet and a suite of pearls. She turned to him anxiously. 

Sir Owen has not returned, ” she said. “ I have told 
them to keep back the dinner until he comes. ” 

He saw that she was terribly anxious, and did his best to 
cheer her. He went to the balcony, where roses and jessa- 
mine grew in wild profusion. 

“ Come and look at these flowers. Lady Chevenix, ” he 
said. “ I read a beautiful legend about the jessamine the 
other day. ” And while she stood by his side he related it 
to her. 

The anxious look fell from her face, and her eyes lost 
their strained, intent expression. He thought, if he could 
keep her attention engaged until Sir Owen returned, how 
well it would be — how much pain it would spare her. She 
turned to him suddenly : 

“ Do you think anything can have happened ?” she asked. 
“ Ought I to send servants out to look for Sir Owen 

“Martin is with him,” said Felix. 

He left her for a few minutes, under the pretext of find- 
ing something that he had missed. In reality he gave direc- 
tions for four of the men-servants to mount at once, and 
ride off in search of their master, and then he returned to 
Lady Chevenix. 

“I am growing terribly frightened, Felix,” she said. 

In this hour of supreme anxiety all barriers seemed to 
have fallen between them. She forgot that he was the man 
she had forsaken and deceived. She thought of him only 
as one in whom she put infinite trust — in whom she had in- 
finite faith. He was once more the Felix on whom she had 
relied from her childhood upward. 

“ I do not think you need be alarmed, Lady Chevenix, 
and for this reason — Martin is with him. If anything had 
happened to Sir Owen the groom would have hastened 
back ; of that you may be quite sure. ” 

The thought was reassuring, and Lady Chevenix was re- 
lieved. 


WEAKEH THAN A WOMAN. 


227 


CHAPTER XLI. 

“weaker than a woman.” 

Seven o’clock struck, and then half -past, and Felix per- 
suaded Lady Chevenix to take some dinner. If anything 
had happened, he thought to himself, she would be better 
able to meet it after dining. She was very unwilling at 
first, but after a time she consented, and dinner was served. 

“I know what I think myself,” said Felix. “Sir Owen 
has called in somewhere, and they have persuaded him to 
stay. Try to imagine that ; it seems to me not unreason- 
able.” 

They sat alone at the stately dining-table, where the sil- 
ver plate and the richly cut glass looked so brilliant — the 
table where Lady Chevenix had undergone so many hu- 
miliations. It was but a farce ; neither of them could eat. 

Eight o’clock chimed, and no other sound broke the sum- 
mer silence. 

“I cannot sit here any longer doing nothing,” said Lady 
Chevenix. “ I am quite sure now that something has hap- 
pened ; I must send out a few of the servants. ” 

“I have done that,” Felix told her. “All that is possible 
has been done ; they will return together soon. ” 

His words were prophetically true. Even as he spoke 
they heard a confused noise at the grand entrance-hall — 
the rush of many feet, the cries of women, and the deep 
voices of men. 

Felix never forgot Violet. She arose from her seat, and 
stood hesitating for one moment pale as death. Then she 
turned to the door. But Felix was before her. That which 
was happening in the hall was most assuredly something 
which she must not see. 

“Sit down, Lady Chevenix,” he said. “You must not go 
out there. Let me see what is wrong.” 

She did not seem to understand him, but he placed her 
in a chair, and then opened the door. There was a rush of 
terrified servants, and women’s voices cried, “ Oh, my lady 
— oh, my lady !” 

He held up his hand with an imperative gesture. 

“You will kill Lady Chevenix,” he said, “with this noise. 
Let no one go near her. ” 


228 


WEAKEB THAN A WOMAN 


He took one step forward, and at once saw the cause of 
the commotion. A crowd of men stood round a litter, and 
on the litter lay Sir Owen. Felix pushed them aside. 

“Is he dead?” he asked, and the answer was, “No.” 

“Thank Heaven for that !” he cried. Then he uttered a 
little cry of dismay, for Lady Chevenix stood by his side. 

“ What has happened ?” she said. “ Tell me the worst. ” 

“ Sir Owen has been thrown from his horse ; and Martin 
says the horse fell on him, ” cried a dozen voices. 

And then, his eyes dim with tears, his whole frame 
trembling with excitement, Martin forced his way through 
the group, and stood before Lady Chevenix and Felix. 

“ My lady, ” he said, “ I wish I had been dead before this 
day came around. You sent me to take care of him, and 
he is brought home so. ” 

“ Tell Lady Chevenix how it happened, ” directed Felix, 
hastily. 

“ Sir Owen rode nearly all the time, my lady, and I rode 
by his side. We went all round Lilford, Harberly, and 
Eipdale. He stopped at Eipdale, and took some refresh- 
ment. Then he came home by the woods, and the horse 
was all right until Sir Owen came to the ring fence. The 
church clock at Lilford had chimed half-past seven. He 
turned to me and said, ‘ Martin, I shall take that fence in 
fine style. ’ I begged him not ; I prayed him not. I told 
him the fence was too high for any horse, even the best in 
the kingdom, to take. But he would not listen — you know, 
my lady, he never would listen. He put the horse at the 
fence, and it refused. He whipped it and spurred it until 
my blood ran cold, and then he put it at the fence again. 
But Plantagenet would not take it. A third time he used 
the whip and spur, until the horse went almost mad. A 
third time he went at the fence. The horse tried his best, 
but his fore-feet caught the top, and he fell over, master 
being underneath him, my lady. When I went to raise 
him, I was afraid he had been crushed into a shapeless 
mass, but he was not, nor was he killed, for I felt his 
heart beating. I had a flask of brandy in my pocket, and I 
put it to his lips — he could not swallow it. I had to leave 
him there while I galloped off to the nearest cottage and 
gave the alarm. Then we made a litter, and brought him 
home. ” 

Felix turned to him. 

“ How long will it take you, ” he said, “ to ride to Lilford, 
and bring back two doctors ?” 

“ I can do it in two hours and a half,” replied Martin, 


WEAKER THAN A W03fAN 


229 


“Go at once,” said Felix, “and lose no time. You, John, 
go to Ordstone Station, and send a telegram to Sir William 
Daly, the great London physician. The address is Hyde 
Park Gardens. Say what has happened, and ask him to 
come at once. You, Stephen, go for Mrs. Haye. Take the 
carriage, so that she can return at once. Horton, if you 
will help me, we will carry Sir Owen to his room. ” 

Felix sent for Mrs. Wardley, the housekeeper, and when 
she appeared he begged of Lady Chevenix to leave them 
for a time. She was very unwilling to do so. 

“I ought to be with him, Felix,” she said. “I ought, 
indeed. ” 

“ So you shall be when I think it is right to send for you,” 
he answered, and she went away. 

They carried the baronet into a spacious, handsomely 
furnished bedroom. The curtains were drawn and the lamps 
lighted. They laid him on the bed of down, and the faithful 
servants wept over him. 

“I always knew that it would be so,” said Mrs. Wardley. 
“ I have always expected this evil day. I was his mother’s 
nurse, sir,” she added, speaking to Felix, “and I nursed 
him until he was three years old. He never would listen — 
never — and it has come at last. ” 

The men took off his clothes, and placed him between the 
fine linen sheets. Felix examined him attentively ; he 
could discover no bruise, no wound. But for the pallor of 
his face he might have been asleep. 

“ I begin to hope, Horton, ” he said to the butler, “ that 
there is not much the matter. I cannot see a wound. He 
is stunned with the fall. ” 

But Horton shook his white head. 

“ I am afraid, sir, that it is more than that. What time 
is it now ?” 

Felix took out his watch. 

“It is just a quarter past nine,” he replied. 

“ It will take two hours and a half to bring the doctors 
here ; that will make it a quarter to twelve. My lady 
might come in, sir. There is nothing to frighten her. ” 

Then Lady Chevenix did come in. Felix looked hopefully 
at her. 

“I begin to have every hope,” he said; “there is not 
much the matter, I think. Certainly there are neither 
broken limbs nor bruises. I am of opinion that Sir Owen 
has been stunned by the fall. We will bathe his head, and 
try to get some brandy between his lips. I do not think 
there is very much the matter, ” 


230 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


Lady Chevenix went up to her husband, and knelt down 
by his side. She had never professed any love for him, 
but, as he lay there, white, silent, and helpless, a keen 
sense of pity and compassion for him awoke in her heart. 
She took his hands in her own, and rubbed them. 

“Owen,” she said — “my dear, try to speak to me.” 

They brought brandy ; Felix gave it to him himself with 
a spoon, and this time they were quite sure he swallowed 
it. Felix looked at Violet. 

“He has swallowed it,” he said ; “and see — there is some 
color coming back to his lips. Lady Chevenix, speak to him 
again. ” 

“Owen,” she said — “my dear, can you speak to me?” 
And this time there was no mistake ; one of his eyelids 
moved, and his lips trembled faintly. 

“ He is getting better !” she cried. “ I can see his lips 
move !” 

They redoubled their efforts, and presently the pale lips 
parted. Felix gave him a little more brandy. They left 
nothing undone that they could do, the four who stood so 
anxiously by him — his wife, Felix, the butler, and Mrs. 
Wardley. At last the baronet gave a deep sigh and opened 
his eyes. His wife bent over him. 

“ Are you better, Owen ?” she asked, gently. 

He looked up at her. 

“ Better ?” he repeated. “ I am all right.” 

“ Tell me what is the matter ?” 

“ I had a nasty fall. I remember it now, ” said Sir Owen. 
“ It stunned me. I do not remember how I came home 
though. ” ’ 

They told him, and he listened attentively. 

“ So Plantagenet f ell on me,” he said. “I wonder that 
he did not kill me. As it is, I am not hurt. I am stunned 
— dazed a little. Very likely I fell upon my head, but it is 
wonderful that I am not hurt.” 

“ I am very thankful, ” put in Lady Chevenix. “ It might 
have been so much worse. ” 

“ Yes, it might. I own now that my conduct was very 
foolish. Violet, you will give all those poor fellows who 
helped to bring me home a handsome reward, will you not ? 
Lonsdale, I am glad that you are with me. You will stay, 
will you not ?” I shall be all right to-morrow. ” 

They asked him if he had any pain. He said “No.” 
There was a strange giddiness in his head, and a strange 
sensation of numbness in his body, but, save for that, he 
felt all right. 


WEAKER THAN A WOJIAN. 


231 


The old butler, when he heard that, turned and quitted 
the room. He felt sure as to what was coining. 

Sir Owen lay perfectly still. The lamps were all lighted, 
and their clear, brilliant light fell on the compassionate 
face of Felix Lonsdale, and on the troubled one of Sir 
Owen’s wife. 

“ How bright and pleasant everything looks !” said the 
baronet. “ How strange it seems to be lying here ! I shall 
get up to-morrow.” Yet, when he tried to move, there was 
a sense of helplessness that he could not understand. “ It is 
strange,” he said to Felix, “that I have neither wound nor 
bruise. I was quite stunned, but that is all. This numb- 
ness will go away with a few hours’ rest. I am so glad 
you are here, Lonsdale. You will not leave me to-night, 
will you ? I feel strangely wakeful, and it is dreadful to lie 
awake through the long hours of night. ” 

“ Of course I will stay, ” he replied, “ and Lady Chevenix, 
too.” 

“ How strange it was, Lonsdale, that you and I should 
have been talking about death this morning ! It must have 
been a foreboding of this accident. I have had a wonderful 
escape. I shall never forget it. I cannot think how it 
was that brute did not kill me. yiolet, come nearer to me, 
and let me hold your hand. What a strange sensation it is 
to be frightened at nothing, as I am.” 

She came nearer to him, and took his hands in hers ; he 
looked at her. 

“ I have had a narrow escape,” he said again, with a shud- 
dering cry — “a narrow escape. Violet, this will do what no 
lecturing and no sermon could do. It will make me a bet- 
ter man. I will be a better man, my dear — I will, indeed. 
I will give up brandy, and I will be kinder to you ; I will, 
Violet. I will look after things better than I have done. I 
will help the poor, and go to church.” 

There was a brief silence, and then he started suddenly. 

“I was asleep,” he said — “asleep and dreaming. How 
strange ! I shall be better to-morrow. I wish this feeling 
of numbness would go. It is nothing, but it is uncomfort- 
able — I cannot stir. I shall be a better man after this, Vio- 
let. We shall be happier than we have ever been yet. I 
wish to-morrow were come, that I might get up. Felix, 
you need not send for any doctors ; I shall not want any. 
My head is dizzy ; it will soon be all right. ” 

“They sent for doctors as soon as you were carried 
home, ” remarked Lady Chevenix. 

“ They need not see me if they come,” he said. “You can 


m 


WEAKER THAN A W03lAm 


tell them I have no pain, no wound, no bruise. I do not lik6 
doctors, and I shall be all right to-morrow. ” 

Ten o’clock and eleven o’clock struck. He talked to 
them the whole time ; but at eleven he complained more of 
the terrible numbness and the inability to move. 

“T lie here like a log,” he said. “ I shall be glad when to- 
morrow comes.” He looked haggard and restless as the 
time wore on. “ I will not ask for brandy, ” he remarked, 
“ though I should like some ; but I mean to give it up — I 
do, indeed. You will see, Violet, how happy we shall be 
when I am well. ” 

It was nearly midnight when the doctors came — Doctor 
Brown, the old established practitioner, and Doctor Brene, 
the clever young physician from London, who had bought 
a practice in Lilford. They looked in wonder at the scene 
— the superb room, the pale, lovely woman in her dress of 
blue velvet and pearls, the man lying on the bed. 

Felix explained rapidly what had happened. 

“I am all right,” said Sir Owen. “They need not have 
troubled you, gentlemen. I have no pain, no bruise, no 
wound. The fall stunned me — that is all. ” 

The doctors looked at each other, and then asked Lady 
Chevenix if she would leave them with her husband. 

“There is no need,” he said, impatiently. “Lonsdale, 
never mind what they say ; do not go. ” 

“ I will not be long away,” replied Felix. 

He did not like the look that had passed between the doC' 
tors ; it was not a hopeful one. He touched Lady Chevenix 
gently on the arm. 

“Let us retire for a few minutes,” he said, and, kissing 
her husband’s face, Violet rose and quitted the room. 

They did not go far. Through the oriel window at the 
end of the corridor the summer moon was shining, and 
they both walked thither. She looked up at Felix, and he 
saw that she trembled. 

“I am frightened,” she said. “It seems so strange.” 

In perfect silence they stood at the window, watching 
the moonlight on the gardens. They had been there quite 
twenty minutes when the door of Sir Owen’s room was 
slowly opened, and Doctor Brene came to them. 

“I have bad news for you,” he said, in his grave, full 
voice. “ Lady Chevenix, you must be brave. I have very 
bad news.” 

She could grow no paler. She stood white, calm, and 
self-possessed before him, but her heart was beating pain- 
fully, and every nerve was strained to the utmost. 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


233 


“You must promise to listen quietly to what I have to 
say. Tell me first whether Sir Owen has any worldly affairs 
to settle. ” 

Lady Chevenix looked at Felix, as though she hardly 
understood. 

He cannot have much to do, ” he said. “ His will was 
made and signed some months since. ” 

She seemed to understand neither question nor answer. 
She looked at the doctor. 

“ What is it ?” she asked. “ I do not understand. Tell 
me about my husband. ” 

“ He is very ill. Lady Chevenix — ^very ill, indeed. ” 

“But,” she cried, “he has no pain — he has no wound !” 

“ So much the worse. Any pain would be better than 
none. The truth is — now promise me to be calm. Lady 
Chevenix — the truth is that Sir Owen has injured his spine, 
and that there is no chance for his life. ” 

She trembled so much that the doctor brought a chair 
and placed her in it. He asked Felix to get her some wine. 

“Try,” he said, “to bear up for a few hours. Your hus- 
band cannot live longer, and you must be with him. You 
must comfort him to the last. Try to bear up. ” 

“ I will,” she replied “ My poor Owen ! And he does not 
know ?” 

“No. He knows nothing of it yet, ” he answered. “Drink 
this wine, and come back to him. It is midnight now, and 
he cannot live until sunrise. Come at once. Lady Chevenix ; 
you must tell him, if you can, that he has to die. ” 

“ I cannot, ” she said. “ I know it is my place — my duty 
- — but I cannot do it. In some things I am weaker than a 
woman ; this is one of them.” 

“ Then I must tell him myself, ” returned the doctor, as 
he moved away slowly, “ but that is not as it should be. ” 

“Felix,” she said, “I have never seen anyone die. I 
know nothing of death. I am terrified at the thought of it. 
Do help me.” 

“I will,” he answered — “all that I can.” 

They went back to the room, and Sir Owen looked up as 
they entered. 

“ Why did you let me be tortured with doctors ?” he cried. 
“ I was getting better quickly, and they have frightened 
me with their long faces. They say — oh, listen, Violet — 
they say that I am going to die !” 

He uttered the last word with a scream they never forgot. 

“It is all nonsense,” he continued. “My back is hurt 
with the fall — that is all; it is nothing more — nothing 


234 


WEAKER TEAK A WOEAK, 


more, I assure you. Lonsdale, send for your father. I 
want to see him ; he has always been kind to me, in his 
way. He will see at once there is nothing the matter ; send 
for him. ” 

Felix left the room at once, and sent Martin off for his 
father. He asked if the carriage had returned with Mrs. 
Haye, and was told that it had not. He went back to the 
room, and found Violet kneeling by her husband’s side. 

^ Her head, with the golden hair all unfastened, was on the 
pillow, and she was trying to reason with him. 


CHAPTER XLII. 

THIRTY THOUSAND A YEAR. 

At one o’clock in the morning Darcy Lonsdale reached 
Garswood. He had no words in which to express his sur- 
Ijrise and dismay on hearing of Sir Owen’s accident. He 
had returned home on the previous evening from London, 
and a few hours afterward received the summons to Gars- 
wood. He went direct to Sir Owen’s room, and was startled 
by the loud cry with which the dying man received him. 

‘‘Come here, Darcy,” said Sir Owen. “You have more 
sense than all the doctors put together. Do I look like a 
dying man ?” 

“You look better than I expected to find you,” answered 
Mr. Lonsdale. 

“ Yet they say I am dying. They say my spine is injured. 
I am talking to you now, yet they say when the sun rises I 
shall be dead. It is absurd — say it is absurd, Lonsdale. ” 

Mr. Lonsdale looked down with infinite pity on the face 
that was almost convulsed with terror. 

“I am afraid,” he said, “that you have heard the truth. 
It would be cruel to give you one false hope. It is time for 
you to make your peace with Heaven.” 

Sir Owen turned his agonized face to his wife. 

“ Oh, Violet, they are all against me, my dear, but you. 
You do not believe it, do you ? You are kinder, and you 
care more for me. What is my life to them ? Tell me — do 
you believe that I am going to die ?” 

She whispered her answer. No one heard it but himself, 
and with a wild cry he turned away his face. 

“ They are all alike. They want me to die. They will not 
let me live.” he exclaimed. 

Doctor Brown stopped his wild raving by telling him 
that the quieter he was the longer he would live. The 


Weaker teak a wo3£ae 


23S 


presence of the two doctors, however, irritated Sir Owen 
so greatly that they were compelled to go down stairs. 
Felix followed them. The night had grown cold and chill. 
A storm was brewing ; the wind was wailing round the 
house, bending the tall trees, and robbing them of leaves. 

The servants were all up, and a fire had been lighted in 
the library. Felix* ordered hot coffee, and sent some to his 
father and Lady Chevenix. 

“ This is a terrbile state of things, ” said one doctor to the 
other. “ There seems to be no sense of what should be 
done. We ought to send for the vicar.” 

“Yes, it would be better,” agreed the other. “It would 
save appearances. But I am no believer myself in death- 
bed conversions.” 

“You forget,” rejoined his friend, “that mercy maybe 
extended even at the last moment. ” 

“ No ; I do not forget that. But I think the best prepara- 
tion for death is a good life. I would not change places 
with Sir Owen.” 

Felix sent at once for the Vicar of Lilford, and then re- 
turned to the baronet’s room, "leaving the doctors together. 

Sir Owen had grown very quiet now. He lay with Vio- 
let’s hands clasped in his, as though, clinging to her, he 
could not die. Darcy Lonsdale sat at the other side, his 
kind, sensible face full of compassion. He had seen nothing 
in all his life that affected him as this death-bed scene did. 

The dying man looked up as Felix entered the room, and, 
taking one hand from Violet, held it out to him. 

“ I am no worse,” he said, but the voice w^as changed and 
faint. “ Have you sent the doctors home ?” 

Felix bent over him without replying, and there was 
such kindly sorrow and anxiety in his face that Sir Owen 
said : 

“You are a good friend — what I call a true friend. My 
dealing with you was not fair as regards Violet here. But 
you forgive me ?” 

“Yes,” answered Felix, “I forgive you.” 

“Now look at me,” whispered the faint voice — look well 
at me. I feel weak, but that is through lying here so long, 
and being frightened. Tell me, do I seem like a dying 
man ?” 

With a woman’s weakness Felix bent lower over the 
face that a few hours since had seemed to him repulsive, 
so that Sir Owen should not see the tears which filled his 
eyes. 


236 WEAKER llIAN A WOMAN. 

“Do not be angry with me,” he said. “I dare not say 
‘No.’” 

The baronet groaned ; and shortly afterward Mrs. Haye 
arrived from Lilford. Lady Chevenix never moved ; she 
still knelt by her husband’s side, and Darcy Lonsdale kept 
his station opposite. Sir Owen smiled when Mrs. Haye 
came in — he had always liked her. 

“ Did they send for you also ?” he said. “ What folly ! You 
must not believe one word they say. ” 

The darkness of the night passed — there was a faint 
gleam of early dawn in the eastern sky. The dying man’s 
quick ears detected the first notes of the birds. 

“ Hush ! Hark !” he cried. “ The birds are chirping ! 
Now who is right ? They said that I should be dead before 
the dawn ! Draw those hangings, Violet, and put out the 
lamps. It is dawn now ; I see the red light in the sky. I 
am right, and the doctors are wrong. ” 

They drew the hangings and put out the lamps, and the 
dawn came flushing into the room. The great window 
faced the east, so that the first rays of the sun shone di- 
rectly into the room. How gray and haggard Sir Owen’s 
face looked as those beams touched it ! 

Darcy Lonsdale discerned what Violet could not — the 
speedy coming of death. He knelt down by the dying 
man’s side, and he spoke to him as no one would have 
thought he could speak. He dwelt so much upon the 
mercy of Heaven and the goodness of God that Sir Owen’s 
pale lips trembled. 

“ I wish,” he said, “ that I had thought of all that before. 
It is too late now — much too late. ” 

The vicar came, but when he stood by the baronet’s 
death-bed it was perceptible to all that Sir Owen neither 
heard nor understood. He roused himself soon afterward, 
however. 

“I feel very ill, Violet,” he said — “ very ill, indeed. I 
have no strength ; I cannot move. Can it be true what 
they said ? Call the doctors back, and tell them they must 
do something for me. ” 

They were brought back, and such an hour passed then 
as they hoped never to see again. Sir Owen’s terrible cries, 
his screams of fear — for he was afraid to die — horribly 
afraid of the unknown future — distressed them. It was 
such a scene that those present were long in forgetting it. 
Then, when the bright sun came forth in his splendor, and 
the birds chirped loudly, the baronet turned his face to his 
wife, sighed softly, and his spirit fled. 


WEAltm THAN A WOMAl^. 


237 


He had been dead some minutes before the doctors found 
It out, and the same sunbeams gilded the dead face of the 
husband and the white beautiful living face of the wife. 

They carried her away, for the horror of the scene proved 
too much for her. She was so overwhelmed as to cause 
alarm among those who loved her. It was bright morning 
then. The doctors took some breakfast, and each went off 
to his duties. Lady Chevenix lay in her room, with Mrs. 
Haye keeping anxious watch by her. Felix went home, 
and Darcy Lonsdale remained, to take charge of every- 
thing. 

The gloom of the next few days was great. Into the 
darkened house there came no sunlight. People kept going 
and coming, all intent on the same melancholy business — • 
preparations for the funeral. Dull gloomy days they were, 
into which came no gleam of hope. 

Sir Owen’s death caused great dismay ; still no one was 
very much surprised at his untimely end ; and, curiously 
enough, the suddenness of it excited great pity. People who 
had spoken unkindly of him, and condemned his faults 
most vigorously, now grieved most for him. His sins and 
errors seemed to be covered by the great dark, thick vail 
of death. 

The day of his funeral came, and half the county at- 
tended. Sir Owen was buried in the church-yard at Lilford, 
where the oak trees seemed to murmur among themselves 
that they had foreseen what would happen, in the early 
days, when he walked under the spreading shade of their 
great branches. 

Then came the reading of the will. The lawyers and 
trustees assembled in the library, and Lady Chevenix, in 
her widow’s dress, entered soon afterward, accompanied 
by Mrs. Haye. There was some little commotion at her 
entrance. One gentleman brought a chair, another a foot- 
stool. She looked so delicately lovely in her widow’s dress, 
her golden hair half hidden by a pretty Parisian cap, the 
heavy folds of rich crape sweeping the ground. Lord 
Arlington hastened to meet her, and, after a few kindly 
words, took his station by her side. It was well known 
that he and Captain Hill were the two executors of the 
will. He spoke some few words to her in a low voice, and 
then both composed themselves to listen. 

It was -a good and just will — evidently the product of a 
thoughtful mind. Mr. Lonsdale had, in fact, suggested 
almost every clause in it. Every old servant in the house 
had a handsome legacy ; the trustees, all Sir Owen’s old 


238 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


friends — every one wa& remembered. The bulk of his for- 
tune, with Garswood, was left to his “ dearly beloved wife.” 
There was a very handsome bequest to Francis Haye, and 
one to the vicar ; there was a large sum left to each charity 
in the neighborhood. 

There was a murmur when the reading ceased. Every 
one was pleased. Lady Chevenix bowed as she quitted the 
room, and the gentlemen stood in little groups to talk 
about her. 

“ What a fate !” said Lord Arlington. “ So young and 
so beautiful ! She will have an income of over thirty 
thousand pounds per annum, too. What a strange fate !” 

“That comes of having a beautiful face,” put in frank 
Captain Hill. “ A beautiful face is better than a fortune. ” 

“At times,” said Darcy Lonsdale. “Every beautiful 
woman is not favored like Lady Chevenix. ” 

Then matters pertaining to the estate were discussed by 
the executors, and it was arranged that, with the young 
widow’s consent, all business should still be left in the 
hands of Mr. Lonsdale. 

A very different scene was passing in the room where 
Lady Chevenix sat with her mother. Mrs. Haye was walk- 
ing up and down, her pride and elation almost more than 
she could conceal. 

“ I always liked Sir Owen, my dear. I always said that 
he was a most honorable man. What could be nobler than 
his treatment of you ? I have known such terrible things 
happen. ” 

“ What kind of things, mamma ?” asked the widow, but 
there was little interest in the tone of her voice. 

“ Terrible things, my dear. I have heard of rich men 
dying, and leaving a handsome fortune to their wives on 
condition that they never married again. Now I call that 
most atrociously mean.” 

“So it is, mamma,” said Lady Chevenix, “and very 
wrong, too.” 

She spoke, however, as one whose thoughts were not 
with her words. She had untied the widow’s cap, and was 
caressing with her fingers the long golden hair that fell 
over her shoulders. Mrs. Haye did not observe her. 

“Sir Owen, you see, Violet, had more sense than that. I 
have never heard of a more generous will. Only twenty- 
six, and you do not look twenty, young, beautiful, with a 
fortune like that — what more could any woman desire ?’' 

“ I desire no more, mamma. I only feel as though I 


WEAKEU THAN A WOMAN. 239 

wanted a long rest. I am very tired ; no one can tell how 
tired I am.” 

“ Your income will be over thirty thousand a year. Only 
think of that. And it was so good of your dear husband 
to leave your father and myself five thousand pounds ; it 
showed such a kind feeling. It seems strange that so much 
good fortune should have fallen to your lot. ” 

The young*widow looked around her sumptuous room. 

“Yes,” she said, “it seems strange to remember that I 
was once Violet Haye.” 

“ ‘Beautiful Violet Haye,’ all the young farmers called 
you,” rejoined Mrs. Haye. Then she saw the golden hair 
lying on the folds of crape. An expression of horror came 
over her face. “My dear Violet, how can you be so care- 
less,” she cried, “and after such a will as that? Put on 
your cap, my dear child, at once. Only imagine my feel- 
ings if one of the servants saw you. I should never forgive 
myself. ” 

“I did not think of what I was doing,” said Lady Cheve- 
nix, languidly. 

“ But you must think of such things. You must study 
appearances. It is a duty.” 

Mrs. Haye hastened to her daughter’s side, and with her 
own hands wound the golden hair into a large knot, and 
placed the cap securely on her head. 

“Do not take it off again, Violet,” she said ; “after such 
a will it seems quite heartless. ” 

She wondered why her daughter laughed with a tired, 
hopeless expression — she who was mistress of thirty thou- 
sand a year. 


CHAPTER XLIII. 

“what is it?” 

Long months had passed since Sir Owen was laid in his 
grave, and now August was come round again, with its 
ripe fruits and yellow corn. Lady Chevenix, every one 
agreed, was a model widow. During the interyal that 
had elapsed since her husband’s death, hardly any one 
had seen her. Visitors had called, but had never been 
admitted ; they had left cards and condolences, and had 
each approved of the fact that Lady Chevenix kept her- 
self quite secluded. 

Mrs. Haye spent a great deal of time with her daughter. 
It was; indeed, that most estimable lady who had advised 


240 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN, 


the long course of seclusion — who saw that the golden 
head was not uncovered until the proper time — who 
brought to her daughter all the news of the outer world, 
and formed the one link between her and society in gen- 
eral. 

Nothing could have been more decorous or proper, and 
every one felt it to be quite the right thing to speak of 
Lady Chevenix as feeling her husband’s loss so keenly 
that she was no longer able to see any one. 

Did she feel it so keenly ? She never asked herself the 
question. She had been overwhelmed with the horror of 
the closing scene — as indeed had every one else who had 
witnessed it. It had haunted her sleeping and waking 
hours, as it had the days and nights of every other witness. 
She had been stunned and bewildered by it. She had been 
so frightened that all her natural high spirits had left her. 
Did she regret' Sir Owen very much? She could not tell 
— she never asked herself the question. She had been 
shocked, startled, horrified — but it was not the keen sorrow 
of her loss that made her shrink from all observation. It 
was rather the reaction from what she had suffered. And 
she suffered still. She often started in alarm from her 
seat, her heart beating with terror, thinking that she heard 
her husband’s voice ; then she remembered that he was 
dead. She woke often from her sleep, her pillow wet with 
tears, her whole frame trembling with the horror of some 
terrible dream, in which her husband was an active figure 
— and then she remembered with a strange emotion that he 
was dead. 

It was strange to go about the house without fear ; it 
was strange to give her orders with certainty that they 
would be obeyed ; it was strange to know that she need 
tremble and suffer no more. There were to be no more 
anxious hours spent in waiting for her husband to go out 
and come in ; it was all over — he waij dead. She said 
the words to herself a hundred times each day — “Sir Owen 
is dead. ” She had found it difficult to realize her subser- 
vience ; she found it just as difficult to realize her inde- 
pendence. She told herself at times that she was absolute 
mistress of Garswood — absolute mistress of thirty thou- 
sand a^year ; but she could neither realize nor understand 
it. 

One day Lord Arlington found it necessary to see Lady 
Chevenix on business ; he was accompanied by Captain 
HilL She received them with quiet grace, and listened 
with intelligence to all their business statements ; then she 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


241 


said it was her express wish that Darcy Lonsdale should 
continue to act in every way for her, but as he would have 
more to do, she insisted on doubling the salary Sir Owen 
had paid him. Lord Arlington was very pleased about it, 
and the interview ended satisfactorily. 

Meanwhile Darcy Lonsdale spent whole days at Gars- 
wood, and it was strange that he never once mentioned 
Felix to Lady Chevenix — nor did she inquire about him. 
But one day, when some protracted business was coming 
to an end, she looked up suddenly, and said : 

‘'Your son was very kind to me in my distress, Mr. 
Lonsdale. I can never forget how kind he was. But for 
him I do not know what I should have done.’* 

“ I am sure that he would be pleased to be of service to 
you. Lady Chevenix, ” he replied. 

- “It was doubly kind of him. He heaped coals of fire on 
my head, ” she declared, warmly. After a few minutes she 
added, “ I should like very much to make him a present, 
Mr. Lonsdale — just as a slight acknowledgment of his kind- 
ness to me. I should like to present him with a diamond 
ring. I thought I would consult you first. What do you 
think of it ?” 

She saw Darcy Lonsdale’s face fiush. He did not answer 
for a few minutes ; then he replied : 

“ I will speak to you quite frankly, Lady Chevenix. I do 
not think that he would like it. ” 

She bowed to him. 

“I am glad that I asked you,” she replied. “You know 
best.” 

“ I am quite sure that the fact of his having been of ser- 
vice to you will be far more to him than any diamond ring, 
or anything that could be given to him, ” said Darcy Lons- 
dale. 

“ How is your son ?” she asked. “ Is he well ? He never 
comes here. ” 

“ He is quite well, but so busy that we see little of him at 
home. He works without intermission. ” 

She looked as though she would fain ask some other 
question. She played for a few minutes with the strings 
of her widow’s cap, and her beautiful face fiushed. What- 
ever the question might have been that she wished to ask 
it remained unspoken. 

On that same evening her mother was at Garswood. 
Lady Chevenix seemed restless. She changed her seat con - 
tinually, and then, tired of sitting, she walked up and 
^ow;n the room. 


242 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


“You are very restless, Violet,” said Mrs. Haye. “Why 
is it, my dear ?” 

“ I want to hear some news of my Lilford friends ; none 
of them come near me. How is Eve Lester, mamma ? Has 
she a fiance yet ? Is there any rumor of her marriage ?” 

“ No. People say that she has refused some good offers 
— no one knows why,” said Mrs. Haye. 

“And — and Felix Lonsdale, mamma. Is he going to 
marry ?” 

For a moment Mrs. Haye looked keenly at her daughter, 
and then she answered, carelessly : 

“ I hear nothing of him. I do not think he will ever 
find time to liiarry ; he has too much business. ” 

“ Does he — let me think — what is the Lilford phrase ? 
Does he ‘ pay his addresses’ to anybody ?” 

She waited restlessly for the answer. 

“ No,” replied Mrs. Haye, “ I have not heard that he does ; 
in fact, he has no time. ” 

She looked again at her daughter, but Violet’s face was 
turned to the window. 

Later on Mrs. Haye began talking to her of the brilliant 
second marriages she had heard of — marriages of fair 
young widows who had been left with large fortunes — how 
they had made most brilliant matches, married lords and 
dukes, filled grand positions, and made famous names. 
She did not say that there was a moral to be drawn from 
all this, but she left it for her daughter to think over. 

So time passed, and at last Lady Chevenix wrote to im- 
plore Marian Hethcote to return to her, if only for a few 
days — for she was longing for a change. But, when Marian 
came, it was found that she had permission to remain six 
months, if Lady Chevenix desired it. 

Miss Hethcote deplored the sudden and untimely death of 
the master of Garswood, but there could be no doubt her 
second visit was more pleasant than her first. Lady Cheve- 
nix was cheered by the presence of her young guest ; it 
was novel to hear the sound of a laugh in the gloomy Hall. 
Marian said to her one day : 

“ Dear Lady Chevenix, do you know what, if I were in 
your place, I should do ?” 

“ I cannot guess, ” she replied. 

“ I should leave Garswood for a few months or longer. 
This house is haunted, I am sure, for you. ” 

“ That is just it,” she acknowledged ; “it is haunted. If I 
go into the library I see my husband there. I fancy I hear 
his voice in the corridors. There is not a room in the house 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN, 


243 


which has not some sad or sorrowful association. I should 
like to go away, Marian. Will you come with me? 
Mamma cannot.” 

“ I will go with pleasure, ” she replied. “ Where shall we 
go ? Shall it be to Scotland, Switzerland, or France ?” 

“Let us go to Normandy,” said Lady Chevenix, “and I 
should like to stay away some time. Perhaps if your 
mamma wants to see you she will pay us a visit there. We 
will take some pretty chateau, and then I shall regain 
what I have lost — my health and youth and spirits. ” 

So it was settled, and in three weeks after that conversa- 
tion Lady Chevenix and Miss Hethcote left Garswood, to 
spend some months in picturesque Normandy. 

Lady Chevenix sent for Darcy Lonsdale, and said fare- 
well to him. She did another thing which pleased the law- 
yer very much, though he said little about it. When pass • 
ing through London she sent such a hamper of toys to the 
Lonsdale children as had never been seen before. There 
was not one among them forgotten. To Katie she sent 
such ornaments that her eyes were dazzled as she looked 
at them ; to Darcy himself she sent a superb diamond ring. 

In the letter that accompanied these presents she said : 

“ I did not see your son, to bid him farewell ; but tell 
him that I send my kindest wishes, and thanks for kind 
sympathy and help that I shall never forget. ” 

Darcy Lonsdale looked at his son when he read the mes- 
sage ; but Felix turned away without a word ; nor did he 
ever mention Lady Chevenix’ s name. Darcy Lonsdale was 
pleased with her thoughtfulness. 

“ Her sorrow has done her good, ” he said to his wife. 

But that obstinate little lady shook her head gravely ; 
even the sparkling ornaments had not changed her opinion. 

The state-rooms at Garswood were closed, and silence 
reigned where poor Sir Owen had at times made daylight 
hideous and night terrible. Again the neighborhood was 
delighted. Nothing could have been more proper. People 
told each other, with sympathetic faces, that “ dear Lady 
Chevenix” had gone abroad to recruit herself after her 
great trial. Even Lady Eolfe said to herself that it was 
one of the most sensible things she could have done, and 
that, after all, she had turned out better than she for one 
had ever anticipated. 

“ I think, Lavinia, ” she said, “ that it was fortunate you 
lost such a chance. A widow with so much wealth ! It is 
very sad. I never like to think of it. ” 

“ I would not have changed places with Lady Chevenix 


244 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAK 

for all the money Sir Owen was worth,” said the curate's 
wife. “ I have at least a good, kind husband, mamma ; 
while the poor girl lived in fear of losing her life. Money 
is a great advantage, but it is not all the world. I am hap- 
pier now than I should have been had I married Sir Owen. ” 

After a few days the gossip about Lady Chevenix died 
away, while she and Marian made themselves comfortable 
in their pretty chateau. Violet soon recovered her bloom ; 
a lovely tinge as of a blush rose came to her face ; her eyes 
grew brighter, and lost all their shadow ; the last few years 
seemed to fall from her, and she looked young and fair — as 
she had looked when she married Sir Owen. 

“You appear to be so well,” said Marian to her one day, 
“ yet you are so thoughtful. What are you always think- 
ing about. Lady Chevenix ?” 

“ Am I always thinking ?” she asked, with a happy brood- 
ing light in her eyes. “ I did not know it. ” 

“ What is it about ? Something pleasant, I am sure, for 
you smile as you think, and at times a little pink flush 
creeps up to your hair even. I speak to you, and you do 
not hear me. I leave you, and you do not miss me. Why 
is it, I wonder ?” 

But Lady Chevenix made no answer. She never imparted 
to any one these the most treasured thoughts of her life. 


CHAPTER XLIV. 

“how I LOVE you!” 

All Loomshire was shaken to its very center. Such news 
had not been heard in the neighborhood for years ; there 
was a general sentiment of rejoicing. Lady Maude Arling- 
ton was going to be married — Lady Maude, whom all the 
inhabitants of the county looked upon as a princess. Whom 
was she going to marry ? That was the question every one 
asked. And the answer gave universal pleasure. It was 
the hero of the Victoria Cross — Major Rawson. Every one 
was delighted with the alliance. Lady Maude was so be- 
loved, while the name of Major Rawson was known 
wherever bravery or valor was honored. 

The county awoke suddenly. There had been many 
queens since Lady Maude first began to reign, but none 
were like her, and Loomshire awoke to the knowledge that 
it was about to lose its chief ornament, and that the time 
was come to do all honor to the earl’s daughter. 

No one was more delighted than Felix. In his heart he 


WSAKm THAN A WOMAN. 


245 


thought no one good enough for the noble, beautiful woman 
whom he admired, and who had been to him the best and 
truest of friends. He was sorry to lose her ; he knew that 
Bramber ToAvers would never again be the place it had been 
while she reigned there ; at the same time he was delighted 
that her noble life had its reward in a noble love. 

Lady Maude could have told how she had loved the brave 
soldier before he went to the war in which he had gained 
such renown. She could have told hoAv she had garnered 
her love in her heart, and had kept it as a priceless treas- 
ure, never dreaming that it could have a happy ending, 
yet preferring to love a hero, and love in vain, than to be 
the wife of a peer. 

But Major Rawson loved her, and there was no obstacle 
to their marriage. He was heir to an ancient title, too, and 
a large fortune. She had a fortune of her own. So all 
Loomshire awoke, and roused itself to do honor to the mar- 
riage of its queen. 

The marriage was to take place at the old parish church 
of Lilford. Lady Maude would have it so. The Countess 
of Arlington had suggested London, and St. George’s, 
Hanover square. Lady Maude had laughed. 

“ Let it be in the old church on the hill, mamma, ” she 
had said. “ It is an odd fancy, but I think I should not feel 
that I had been married unless those solemn old oaks had 
shaken their heads over me, and the rocks had held a con- 
ference about my wedding.” 

So, as Lady Maude had had her way all her life, she had 
it now, and the ceremony was to be performed in the old 
church. 

The rejoicings were great and many. It would have 
done any one’s heart good to have seen the ceremony, and 
the crowds of children with flowers to strew before the 
bride — to have seen the poor, the old, the inflrm, all going 
up to the church to have one last, last look at her who had 
been so good to them all. It was a magnificent ceremony. 
Peers and peeresses, with some of the first people in the 
land, were there. The little gray church seemed to be 
filled with smiling faces and costly dresses. But to Lady 
Maude nothing on her wedding-day was so dear or so prec- 
ious as the blessings of the children and the poor. 

The wedding-breakfast was given at Bramber Towers — 
and so goodly a company had never sat there before. Mr. 
and Mrs. Lonsdale, with Felix, were invited. Of all the 
guests who clustered around the beautiful bride to bid her 
farewell, she gave most heed to Felix. She went aside with 


246 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. 


him for a moment, for she read in his face that he longed 
to say something to her. She never forgot the few words 
that he did say. She laid her hand in his for a second ; he 
bent down and kissed it, with tears in his eyes. 

“How am I to thank you, Lady Maude,” he said, “for all 
that you have done for me ? You came to me in the dark- 
est moment of my life, and I owe to you, after Heaven, all 
that I am. How must I thank you ?” 

She looked up with a smile into the handsome face that 
was full of emotion. 

“You can thank me best,” she replied, “by being, as the 
story books say, good and happy now and henceforward.” 

“I will try,” he said, “and no one. Lady Maude, says 
‘Heaven bless you !’ more fervently than I do — I, whom 
you saved from ruin. ” 

As they drove down the long avenue, amid cheers and 
shouts and good wishes that were enough to deafen them. 
Major Rawson turned with a smile on his lips to his wife. 

“I did not know that you had such a royal dowry, 
Maude. ” 

“ What dowry do you mean ?” she asked. 

“ The dowry of blessings from young and old, rich and 
poor. What have you done to make all these people love 
you so ?” 

She raised her eyes to his. 

“I have done nothing but my duty,” she replied. 

“ Then you have done it with grace and sweetness, ” he 
said. “ Teach me to do mine as well. If I could hear as 
many blessings follow me as follow you I should be happy.” 

“Are you not happy now?” she asked, with a charming 
smile. 

His ap-swer was prompt and decisive. 

Knowing Miss Lester’s secret predilection for hearing 
news that she was too proud to seek, Felix went over to the 
Outlands a few days afterward. He had not seen Eve 
lately, and was anxious about her. He had heard Kate 
say that she was not looking well — that she had grown 
thin and pale, and seemed to have lost some of her old 
bright spirit ; and those few words had made Felix anx- 
ious. Finding one evening that he had an hour’s leisure 
he thought that he could not do better than devote it to her. 

Miss Lester was looking a little more cross and impa- 
tient than usual when the young lawyer greeted her, and 
he asked what was the matter. 

“ I am not pleased about the corn, ” she briefly replied. 

“ I am sorry to hear it. What is the matter with it ?” 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


247 


“ It does not ripen as it should, ” she replied. 

“ That must be the fault of the sun, ” said Felix. 

“^No matter what is to blame, the misfortune is just the 
same,” returned Miss Lester. “What has brought you 
here to-night, Mr. Felix ? I saw your name in the Loom- 
shire Gazette. You were present at all the gay doings at 
Bramber Towers.” 

“Yes,” he replied, “I was there.” 

“ Then tell me all about Lady Maude’s marriage. It is 
not often that one has the opportunity of hearing about 
such grand affairs ; tell me everything that you remem- 
ber.” 

“ I came on purpose to do so, ” said Felix. “ I thought you 
would be pleased to hear about it. But shall we not wait 
for Eve ? Perhaps she would be interested, too. ” 

“No,” replied Miss Lester, “she would not — unless it 
were about a marriage in the moon. I tell her always that 
she is waiting to marry the man in the moon. Sit down 
here by these bee-hives. Never mind the bees ; they will 
not sting you unless you interfere with them. As I sit 
here I can see what is going on around me, and no man is 
idle while my eyes are on him. Tell me about Lady Maude 
first. Do you know, I heard a foolish rumor once, Felix 
Lonsdale ?” 

“ I am afraid you have heard a great many false rumors 
in your time. Miss Lester,” he remarked. “ ^t seems to me 
that the world is full of them. What was the one you re- 
fer to”? 

“ I heard that you were in love with Lady Maude, and 
that she liked you,” said Miss Jane, solemnly. 

He laughed so heartily that she felt at once there was no 
truth in it. Her grim face relaxed at the sound of his 
mirth. 

“ How absurd !” he said. “ There is no lady in England 
whom I hold in higher reverence and esteem than Lady 
Maude. As for being in love with her, it is sufficient to say 
that she is an earl’s daughter, and in my own fashion I am 
as proud as a king. I would no more marry a rich woman, 
and live on her money than I would cheat or steal. ” 

He marveled why Miss Jane looked so intently at him. 

“ I wonder if you will always think so ?” she said, ear- 
nestly. 

“ I am quite sure that I shall. I think independence a 
noble quality, and one to which Englishmen especially 
may lay claim. I have a great respect for it, and shall 
ever exercise it.” 


248 


WEAKEB THAN A WOMAN. 


‘‘Now tell me about the wedding,” said Miss Lester. And 
Felix gave her a most animated account of it. 

She was delighted, and would have listened to him for 
another hour, but that her keen eyes detected a dairymaid 
enjoying the homage paid by one of the reapers. 

“ Go into the house and find Eve, ” she said. “ I shall be 
with you directly. ” 

Felix found Eve in the^ garden, and so intently was the 
girl thinking that she never heard his footsteps until he 
stood by her side. 

“ Eve !” he said, gently, and he was startled by the sudden 
change in her face when she saw him. It was dyed crim- 
son, and the sweet, earnest eyes fell before his. She could 
not speak to him at once, and a sudden conviction fiashed 
across his mind that at the moment he had accosted her 
she was thinking of him. 

“My dear Eve,” he said, “are we such strangers that you 
should be so startled by my presence ? I was told you 
were not looking so well, and I am come to see. ” 

“I am quite well,” she answered, in her sweet, low 
voice, “ and very pleased to see you. ” 

“You look well enough just now. You have the color of 
a rose in your face,” he told her. “ May I find a seat here ? 
I have an hour to spare, and am come to spend it with you. ” 

He sat down on a little garden chair, under the luxuriant 
jessamine, and began to talk to her. A sense of peace and 
repose always came over him when he was with Eve — a 
sense so sweet that he never cared to disturb it, and the 
same magical feeling was stealing over him now. When 
they had been talking for some time, he looked at her, and 
then he saw how true Mrs. Lonsdale’s words were. The 
sweet face had grown very thin and pale ; there was a dull 
look in the tender eyes, as though she had wept bitter 
tears. She was much changed, and Felix was pained to 
see it. He marveled as to the cause, and then decided to 
question her. 

“Eve,” he said, gently, “you are not well. Why do you 
not go to the sea-side for change of air ?” 

“ I am happier here than I should be anywhere,” she re- 
plied. 

His ears detected a tone of patieut weariness in her 
voice. 

“Eve,” he said, impulsively, “I do not believe you are 
happy. Have you any trouble or sorrow ? Trust me, as 
1 trust you. ” 

The sweet face looked up at him. 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


249 


I have no trouble, ” she answered, “ and Heaven has 
been very good to me. ” 

But long after Felix had gone away she sat under the 
luxuriant jessamine, and once she cried : 

Oh, my love, you will never know in this world how I 
love you !” 


CHAPTER XLY. 

MRS. HAYE’S RESERVE. 

One fine morning in September a letter came to the office 
of Lonsdale & Son which presented very familiar features 
to those who received it. The creamy color of the envelope, 
the delicate handwriting, the faint perfume of violets, the 
crest on the seal — each and all were familiar. 

“It is from Lady Chevenix,” said Felix, as he placed it 
before his father — of all the letters that had been received 
from her he had never opened one. 

Mr. Lonsdale read it, and then looked at his son. 

“ She is coming home, ” he announced. “ She will be at 
Garswood by the end of the week, and wants me to see that 
everything is ready for her. I had better go over to the 
Hall at once. Ah, here is a postscript — there is sure to be 
one in a lady’s letter! — ‘Remember me kindly to Mrs. 
Lonsdale — and Felix. ’ ” 

“ She is very kind, ” said Felix, as he sorted his papers. 
“ I suppose you told her what an accumulation of business 
awaits her ?” 

“Yes. I thought it time she either returned or gave me 
fuller powers of acting,” replied Mr. Lonsdale. “I am glad 
she is coming home. I do not like the Hall to be closed ; it 
makes the whole neighborhood dull. ” 

Darcy Lonsdale rode off at once with his good news ; and 
very pleased the household at Garswood were. Their 
young mistress had been worshiped among them, and they 
were delighted at the thought of her return. Mr. Lonsdale 
gave all necessary orders, so that Lady Chevenix should 
find everything ready on her return, and should not miss 
any comfort or luxury. 

He called on Mrs. Haye, and found that she also had 
heard from her daughter, and that she was going to Gars- 
wood to be in readiness to receive her. Mrs. Haye had 
very ambitious views for her daughter ; she had plenty of 
good advice to give her. Now that she had secured wealth 
and a title, she must look for something higher still. 


250 


WEAKSB THAN A WOMAN 


“She ought to marry a duke next,” she said to her hus> 
band, but Francis Haye answered : 

“ It is just possible she may not care to marry again.” 

His wife laughed at this. 

“After proving herself so sensible, do you think she in- 
tends to retire upon her laurels ? You may depend upon it, 
Francis, her second marriage will be far more brilliant 
than her first. ” 

“You know best, of course, my dear,” said Francis 
Haye, meekly. “ Violet owes a great deal to your training.” 

“I flatter myself,” remarked Mrs. Haye, “that I have 
made her what she is. My prudence and diplomacy, dur- 
ing her first foolish engagement to Felix Lonsdale, made 
her Lady Chevenix. ” 

“ That I believe, but I doubt if she has ever been really 
happy since. Do you remember how she used to smile and 
blush when Felix came ?” 

“ It was childish nonsense ; she has something better to 
do than smile and blush now,” replied Mrs. Haye, 
severely. “ I hope when she does come you will not en- 
courage her in any nonsense. Only imagine — if we should 
live to see her a duchess ! I always knew that she would 
be fortunate in life. What a cruel thing it would have been 
if she bad married Felix Lonsdale !” 

At the end of the week another letter came to the office 
at Lilford, asking Darcy Lonsdale to go over to Lady 
Chevenix at once. He went, and on his return he said to 
Felix : 

“ There is a terrible accumulation of work at G-arswood. 
Lady Chevenix wishes me to remain at the Hall for a week, 
and clear up all arrears. It will occupy a week — the 
Michaelmas accounts are always heavy, but, Felix, I can- 
not spare a week. Lord Arlington’s rent-dinner and many 
other things are close at hand. I do not think I can spare 
a week. I made a suggestion to Lady Chevenix, which she 
seemed very pleased with ; it was that, instead of my going 
to the Hall for six days, we should both go for three — that 
is, of course, if you are willing. ” 

“ It is a matter of indifference to me, father,” he replied. 
“ Whichever plan suits you best, or pleases you best, I will 
follow. ” 

“ Then we will both go. It is far easier to go to Gars- 
wood and take a clerk with us than to have all that mass 
of documents brought to the office. ” 

So it was settled that they were to go to the Hall, and do 
all the business as quickly as possible there. 


WEAKER THAN A whMAN. ^ 251 

“I shall prefer sitting up at night,” said Felix. can 
always work better when there is perfect silence. A few 
hours’ extra work each night, and we shall soon have 
finished. ” 

He little dreamed to 'what that sitting up would lead. 

They went on the Monday evening — a beautiful autumn 
evening, when the sunbeams fell on the gray Avails and 
lighted up the picturesque mass of buildings. Several 
visitors were at the Hall. Captain Bell, Mrs. Haye, Miss 
Hethcote — who seemed as though she would never leave 
Lady Chevenix again — Lady Browning, and Miss Fern — all 
guests whom Lady Chevenix had invited. 

Father and son were taken at once to her boudoir, where 
she sat alone, and never in her whole life had Violet looked 
so charming. The year of quietness and repose in the cli- 
mate of Normandy had been marvelously beneficial to her. 
While there she had not a shadow of care ; she had studied 
nothing except to forget the past, to realize her good for- 
tune, and to recruit her health. The consequence was that 
she returned Avith a lovely and dainty bloom. There was 
no longer the faintest shadow on her face ; it was full of 
radiant, laughing light; the violet eyes were clear and 
bright as stars, the scarlet lips untroubled. 

Felix looked at her as she stood in the light of the setting 
sun, and his eyes Avere dazzled by her beauty and loveli- 
ness. She wore a dress of rich black velvet cut square, so 
as to shoAv the Avhite neck, on which a diamond cross 
gleamed like fire. She wore diamond bracelets on her 
arms ; diamond stars shone in the coils of golden hair. 

In kindliest greeting she held out her white jeweled 
hands to Mr. Lonsdale and his son, but her marvelous 
beauty had for a few minutes stricken them dumb. 

“ I am so delighted, ” she said, and truth shone in her 
beautiful eyes. “I thought I would see you here first, 
away from the other guests, because I Avanted to talk to 
you. Mr. Lonsdale, take this easy-chair. Felix” — she 
had quite fallen into the old fashion of calling him Felix — 
“ sit here. I did not see you” — to Felix — “ to bid you good- 
by ; but I am pleased to see you on my return. There is no 
place like home, after all, is there ? Normandy was very 
beautiful, but Garswood is home. Now tell me all that has 
been done in Lilford since I left. You were at Lady Maude’s 
wedding — tell me about it, Felix. I am so glad she married 
her hero after all. ” 

They spent one of the pleasantest hours that could be 
imagined. The same idea struck both father and son. 


252 


WEAKER TUAN A WOMAN 


Lady Chevenix seemed to have grown young again ; her 
sunny smiles, her unusual laughter, her quick, clever 
repartee, her keen enjoyment of their society — all were 
noticeable. She had indeed altered ; she was like beautiful 
Violet Haye ; all trace of the quiet, cold Lady Chevenix had 
vanished. 

Then her smiles died away for a few minutes as they 
talked of the terrible trial they had gone through together. 
She looked with soft, luminous eyes into Darcy Lonsdale’s 
face. 

“ What old friends we are !” she said, thoughtfully. 
“ And how strange it seems that you should have been with 
me when he died — that Felix should have been my chief 
comfort ! What a riddle life is to read !” 

After a few minutes Mr. Lonsdale remarked : 

“ You must not charm us into forgetting our work. Lady 
Chevenix ; there is so very much to be done. ” 

“You can begin as early as you like in the morning,” she 
said, “ but this one evening you must give to me. Think 
what a pleasure it is to me to talk to such old friends. I 
shall get up early, too, and see that you have breakfast 
before you begin. I shall make your tea ; I am sure that 
no one else could make it nicely enough. ” 

Darcy Lonsdale told her laughingly that she would spoil 
him, and both gentlemen were surprised to find that they 
had. been talking for an hour instead of a few minutes. 

They arose when the first bell rang for dinner, and Lady 
Chevenix, looking at Felix, asked him : 

“ How is Evelyn Lester ?” 

He told her that she was not looking either bright or 
well lately, and then they separated. 

Long after father and son had left her the beautiful 
woman sat with a happy, brooding light in her eyes, and 
a smile like summer sunshine on*her lips. And when she 
arose to return to her visitors she murmured to herself : 

“ At last, my love, at last !” 

It was a pleasant evening ; the dinner-party was bright 
and cheerful, and after dinner the guests had music, cards, 
and conversation. More than once Lady Chevenix made 
room for Felix near her, and talked to him. But, if Lady 
Chevenix was unusually kind, Mrs. Haye was unusually 
cold to him ; whenever she saw her daughter talking to 
him, under some pretext or other she interrupted the con- 
versation. She tried to patronize him, but all efforts at 
patronage recoiled upon herself. There are some men who 


WEAKER THAN A WOAIAN. 


253 


never will be patronized, and he was one ; his natural 
pride and dignity of character quite prevented it. 

The evening was a very pleasant one. Lady Chevenix 
was a charming hostess ; she neglected no one. She had the 
rare gift of making every one feel perfectly at home, and 
each one separately seemed to be her most favored guest. 
Felix could not help contrasting that visit with his last, 
when she had suffered such tortures of anxiety and hu- 
miliation. He could not help thinking of the unhappy man 
who had died so young, a victim to his own folly — the man 
who had once been master of all this wealth and had made 
bad use of it. 

It was a pleasant evening. If Felix had been more vain 
he must have seen with what great respect and considera- 
tion he was treated — how Lady Chevenix deferred to him 
on every point — how she consulted his tastes, his wishes, 
his convenience. If he had been more vain he would have 
been more flattered by it — he would have seen it. But he 
did not. The chief thing that struck him was the coldness 
and reserve of Mrs. Haye. 

During the next few days father and son worked hard ; 
they arose early and did not leave work until it was, time 
to prepare for dinner. Darcy Lonsdale declared that Lady 
Chevenix would spoil him. She devoted herself almost 
entirely to their comfort ; she studied them. 

At the end of the third day there yet remained three or 
four hours’ hard work. 

“We must go to-morrow,” said Darcy; “we must leave 
the first thing in the morning, let what will happen. ” 

Felix decided to go back to his writing immediately after 
dinner, and not to pause again until he had finished. That 
was the only plan. Lady Chevenix smiled thoughtfully 
when she heard it. 

“ It will be best, ” she agreed. “ I will see that Felix has 
a cheerful Are and refreshments. How good you both are 
to work so hard over my affairs !” 

So, when the dinner was ended Felix went back to the 
library and began to write. Lady Chevenix sent him a 
cup of her favorite cafe noir. Later on a servant carried 
in a refreshment-tray, which was placed on a table near 
him. He heard the sound of music and laughter, which, as 
night drew on, ceased. His father came in and said “ Good- 
night” to him, and then silence fell over the house. 


254 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. 


CHAPTER XLYI. 

THE TEST. 

As Felix Lonsdale wrote busily, there came to him the 
memory of a story he had read in which a lawyer like him- 
self sat alone in the library of a country-house, and the 
spirit of its dead owner came to tell him of some wrong 
that he had done in life. 

It is a pleasant thought !” smiled Felix to himself, and 
then he was startled for a moment. A faint odor of vio- 
lets floated near him, and, looking up, he saw Lady Cheve- 
nix. 

She was standing by his side, looking down on him with 
a light on her face that had not shone there for long years. 
Never had this beautiful woman looked more beautiful 
than now, with her charming head bent over him, stand- 
ing in the half darkened room like a vision of light. The 
crimson glow of the fire and the soft radiance from the 
lamp on the table fell over her. She wore a very hand- 
some dress, which showed her lovely shoulders, her white 
neck and rounded arms — a dress that in the ruddy firelight 
presented most marvelous hues. With it she wore a dia- 
mond necklace, and diamond stars shone in the golden hair. 

There was something more than beauty in her face ; he 
knew it the moment he raised his eyes and saw her. There 
was love — love such as had not shone there since she had 
bidden him farewell. The firelight gleamed on her jeweled, 
hand, on her marvelous face, her golden hair. She stood 
before him in all the pride and magnificence of her wealth 
and her loveliness, a vision such as rarely greets the eyes 
of men. And, as he looked at her, with somewhat of won- 
der and inquiry on his face, she sank slowly on to her 
knees, and bent her head before him. 

“Lady Chevenix,” he cried, “you must not do that! I 
cannot allow it I” 

She laid her hand on his arm — the hand on which shone 
her wedding-ring. 

“Listen to me, Felix,” she said, and the sweet voice 
stirred unwontedly his heart and soul. “ I have waited 
impatiently for this hour. You are going away to-morrow, 
and I must speak to you to-night. Marian is in the ante- 
room there ; I brought her with me. I told her I must 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. 255 

speak to you to-night, and she came at once. Felix, will 
you listen ?” 

“ How can I help but listen ?” he replied. “ What do you 
wish to say to me. Lady Chevenix 

With a charming gesture of impatience she laid a finger 
on his lips. 

“ You must not call me ‘Lady Chevenix,’ ” she said. “I 
am ‘Violet' to you. Say ‘Violet,’ and then I will tell you 
what I came for. ” 

Perhaps, if he had had time to prepare himself, to think 
matters over, to take some precautions, he would have 
known better how to listen, and what to say. As it was, 
she seemed suddenly to have taken possession of him, of 
his whole nature. 

“You make me say what you will, Violet,” he said. 

She clasped her hands, and laid them upon his arm. 

“I want to tell you a story, Felix,” she said — “give me 
your attention while I narrate it. Years ago there was a 
girl — young, foolish, and, the world said, fair. She was 
vain, too, of her beauty, and expected to achieve great 
things with it. She loved with all her heart some one who 
was more than worthy of her love, and she promised to be 
his wife. But sorrow and misfortune came to him, while 
a wealthy wooer sought her — one who offered her wealth 
and title, houses and lands — and she — well, I am ashamed 
of her, Felix. She was vain, and much weaker than a 
woman ; she was young, too, and not over -wise. She had 
nobility enough, however, to see what was right, though 
not to do it. She was tempted by her love of luxury and 
comfort — she was badly advised, wrongly infiuenced ; and 
she, weaker, I say again, than a woman, gave up her lover 
— the one man in the world whom she loved — and married 
the wealthy suitor. How she suffered no one knows, no 
one can tell. Her marriage turned out to be a most disas- 
trous one. She had money, luxury of every kind, but she 
never had one moment of happiness — one moment of peace, 
of rest. She had outward brilliancy and pleasure ; but her 
life was one round of lamentation and anxious sorrow. No 
one knew what she suffered ; no one knew how she re- 
gretted the lost true dear love who would have made her 
life a heaven on earth. After she was married she met 
him again, and — well, he was always cold and distant to 
her. What she thought and what she suffered was known 
to herself. Then, after long years of humiliating servi- 
tude, she was alone again, and free. What do you think 
she did, Felix ?” 


556 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


“I cannot say,” he replied, in a low, hoarse voice. 

‘‘ I will tell you. After those long years she found that 
she still loved the dear companion of her youth. She said 
to herself that he had never married — perhaps he still 
cared for her — and one night, when he was sitting alone, 
she went to him — as I have come to you — knelt by his side 
— as I kneel by yours — and prayed to him — as I pray to 
you — ‘Oh, my lost love, my dear love, forgive me, and 
take me to your heart again !’ ” And the lovely head 
drooped until it lay upon his arm. 

He made no answer just then. His whole soul was stirred 
within him — his whole heart touched. After a few minutes 
she raised her face to his, and he saw tears upon it. 

“Violet,” he said, “I do not know what to say to you. 
You have taken me so completely by surprise. I am lost 
■ — bewildered. I cannot collect myself.” 

“I thought you would say ‘Yes’ to me at once,” she re 
turned, sadly. “ Oh, Felix, have you not forgiven me ? Tell 
me that first. Have you forgiven me ?” 

He looked at her thoughtfully, watching the firelight 
gleaming on her golden hair and on her rich jewels. 

“Yes, I have forgiven you, Violet — I forgave you long 
ago.” 

“ Quite, or was it only a half forgiveness, Felix ?” 

“ Quite, ” he replied. “I am sure of it. My heart was 
full of hot anger for many long months, but it died away, 
and then, when I saw that you were not happy, I forgave 
you.” 

“With all your heart, Felix?” 

“With all my heart,” he answered, and then there was 
silence for a few minutes between them. 

“ You forgave me ? Then, Felix, why will you not take 
me into your heart again ?” 

His face grew deadly pale — his hands trembled. She saw 
such deep emotion in his face that her own grew pale. 

“You see but one side of the question,” he said. “Now 
listen to me. I loved a girl, Violet — ah. Heaven, how I 
loved her ! She was the very light of my eyes ! She 
was the pulse of my heart ! She was the very soul of 
my life — ^^my one priceless jewel ! She loved me — her 
fair face brightened for me — her sweet eyes rained love 
and kindness on me — her voice made all my music ! I 
had no life outside her sweet life ! Heaven forgive me, I 
worshiped her — no man ever worshiped a woman so madly, 
so blindly, or so well. If at any time my poor life would 
have served her, I would have given it. If at any time I 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


257 


could have died for her, I would have died. And she was 
kind to me. It drives me mad even now. when I remem- 
ber that she once placed her arms around my neck and 
promised to be my wife. Then over the heaven of my con- 
tent what clouds came ! I was working — as man seldom 
works — to make a home for my darling, and place her in 
it. I was seeking every picture, every ornament that I 
thought would beautify a home, for one who would herself 
adorn it most. What happened ? A wealthier lover came 
— not, mind you, one who loved her more, not one whom 
she could love — a man, to say the best of him, coarse of 
soul and hard of heart ; he could not even appreciate the 
exquisite loveliness of my love. He held out his hands to 
her, and they were filled with gold ; he offered her title, 
money, jewels — everything that women love. He laughed 
to scorn the notion that any tie to me bound her. ‘ Leave 
him,’ he said — ‘he is poor. Come to me — I am rich.’ 
What did she do, this love of mine, who held my heart in 
her hands?” 

The beautiful head drooped lower and lower. 

“Have pity on me, Felix,” she cried, “have pity !” 

“ I do not mean to be hard ; I am only telling the truth. 
That is my version of the story, Violet. What did she do? 
Did the first noble instincts of true womanhood come to her ? 
Did she turn with fidelity to me ? No. She flung my love 
back in my face, she trampled my life under her feet, and 
she crushed my heart in her hand — she jilted me. Nay, 
do not shrink from the word, Violet ; it is the only one. 
She jilted me — left me to be the subject of men’s laughter 
and women’s jeers — left me to a burning fire of anguish 
that nothing could slacken or cool — left me with my life 
ruined. ” 

Again she raided her hands to him, and cried : 

“ Have pity on me ! You are terribly hard.” 

“Nay, I am but just, Violet. And then this woman who 
had left me to laughter and ruin came to me — oh. Heaven, 
that women can bo so light — came to me with a smile, and 
asked me to take her into my heart again. The past, 
which had been one long agony to me, was to be condoned 
by a smile, the torture of years to be soothed by a few kind 
words !” 

He stopped ; the passion of his own words mastered him. 

“You said you had forgiven me, dear,” and Violet’s 
hands touched his clustering hair. 

“Yes, I have forgiven you. Listen to me, Violet. She 
came to me again, this woman who had betrayed me, with 


258 


WEAKm THAN A WOMAN 


the dead man’s spoils in her hand. She came to me bright 
with jewels, radiant with the magnificence his wealth had 
provided for her — the wealth for which she left me. She 
held out her hands to me laden with his treasures ; she 
brought to me the spoils her perfidy and falsehood had won 
for her. I should be less than a man if I shared those spoils 
wth her — should I not, Violet? When you left me, and men 
laughed because you had left me for money, my very 
sorrow had a dignity in it. What should I be now, even in 
your eyes, if I took you back to my heart with the same 
money that your falsehood had won ? I should be less 
than a man. ” 

“I cannot understand you,” she said, piteously. 

In his passion he seemed to rise to a height which that 
weak soul could not reach, but the pitiful, pleading voice 
touched him and made him gentle again. He looked down 
into the lovely face. 

“Violet, you will understand this. Suppose that when 
you loved me most I had left • you and had married a rich 
woman — a woman whom I did not love, but married solely 
because she was rich — that she died after a few years, and 
I came back to you with her money in my hands, and 
asked you to share it — would you do so ?” 

“Yes, I think I should, Felix.” 

“ Perhaps I might have expected such an answer from 
you. I would not act in such a fashion. I should be less 
than a man now to take dead Sir Owen’s gold, and with it 
you.” 

She looked at him with a half bewildered air, yet still 
seemed to think that she could persuade and soften him by 
sweet words. 

“I have been so unhappy without you, Felix,” she mur- 
mured. “ You do not know all ; it seemed to me as though I 
had lost the half of my soul when I lost you — it is not 
wrong to say so to you now. I was very unhappy, Felix. 
I found out soon afterward that I could never be happy 
without you. ” 

He made no answer, and she took courage. She laid her 
face on his arm. The waves of golden hair fell over his 
hands. 

“Do forgive me, Felix,” she said. “I was so young, and 
so thoughtless. I did not understand.” 

So she knelt, while the firelight played over her, and the 
face of Felix Lonsdale was turned from her. 

“I am sorry for it all, Felix,” the sweet voice went on — 
“ so very sorry. You see, dear, there were great excuses 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. 


259 


for me, though they do not seem great to you. I was very 
vain — every one flattered me and praised me, and I was 
led away. I thought my beauty was great enough to merit 
any station. Then, Felix, I was so young — oh, my dear, 
forgive me, I was so young — and foolish ! I have repented 
of it ever since. I love you now just as much as when 
we stood in the moonlight together. ” 

He raised her face and looked into it. It was beautiful 
enough to tempt any man to forego honor. He looked into 
the depths of the violet eyes. 

“You are sorry for it, Violet,” he said — “really and truly 
sorry ?” 

“Yes, I am, indeed, Felix,” and her hands were clasped 
around his own. “ I am, dear — my life has been all regret. ” 

“ Answer me truly — if the time came over again, would 
you act in the same manner ?” 

The soft eyes wavered half a moment, and then fell. 

“ I cannot tell ; it cannot come over again. That is a 
strange question. Answer me one — truly, Felix. Do you 
love me ?” 

She saw the sudden gleam of passion light in his face 
and deepen in his eyes. 

“Do I love you? Yes. Heaven help me, I do ! If I did 
not love you, I should not suffer. ” 

“You are quite sure that you have not met any one since 
whom you liked even ever so little, Felix?” 

“No,” he answered; “when a man has loved a woman 
like you, Violet, it is not easy to forget her.” 

“ Then, Felix, if you love me and I love you, why should 
we not be happy ? What stands between us ?” 

“My own honor,” he replied — “my dignity as a man, my 
pride as a gentleman. If you were penniless, Violet, I 
would kneel to you, I vow, and pray you to be my wife. ” 

“ What stands between us, Felix ?” she asked again. 

“Your dead husband’s gold — the gold for which you 
broke your plighted troth and left me. You say, Violet, 
that you were young and thoughtless when you sinned, 
that you hardly realized all you were doing. I believe 
that. Suppose now I believed in you, and again let myself 
drift upon the golden sea of hope and love. Some wealthier 
suitor might come — an earl this time — and you would leave 
me once more. ” 

“No, never again,” she cried, clinging to him — “never 
again !” 

His face softened into deepest tenderness as he looked at 


260 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


her. The old love so long trampled down and repressed 
seemed to leap into new and vigorous life. 

“ Never again !” she repeated. “ I love you — and I would 
be true to you !” 

“ Then give me a proof. I hate this wealth for which 
you forsook me ! I hate this splendor and magnificence 
for which you bartered your truth and fidelity. I will 
never benefit by them. They robbed me of you, they de- 
stroyed the best part of my life — I will have none of them. 
No man shall say of me that I profited by your falsehood 
and enjoyed the price of your sin — for it was a sin, Violet. 
Listen to me, my darling. This is what my honor dictates 
— and my honor is dearer to me than my life. I love you, 
and ask no higher gift from Heaven than to call you my 
own ; but you must come to me unfettered with dead Sir 
Owen’s wealth — I will have none of it. You must give up 
your mansion, your jewels, your servants — all the magnifi 
cence furnished by him. I will provide a beautiful house 
for you — not grand and stately like his, but a home that 
shall be a heaven of love. You married for money, Violet 
— money did not bring you happiness. Now marry for 
love — that will.” 

She looked up at him with a bewildered air. 

“ I do not understand. Do you mean that I am to sur- 
render all the fortune my husband has left me ?” 

“I mean just that, Violet ; I will never share it.” 

“ But, Felix, ” she said, “ that would be absurd, now that 
it is all mine to do as I hike with. What could I do with 
it?” 

“Build hospitals, churches — anything you like except 
keep it.” 

She looked at him thoughtfully. 

“ Do you not think that that is very hard ?” she said. 

“No, I do not ; to share it, to benefit by it, would seem to 
me like sharing a sin. There is the true test of love, 
Violet. I forgive with all my heart the fault that you say 
was committed in the thoughtlessness of youth — now I 
give you the chance of redeeming it. Give up the wealth 
that tempted you to do me wrong, and I will bless the 
day that brings you to me again. ” 

He looked at the diamond necklace she wore ; unclasping 
it, he laid it upon the table. 

“Your neck is a thousand times more beautiful,” he 
said, “ without that circlet. Can you give up all such deck- 
ings, Violet?” 

“ It is such a thing to ask me, ” she said. 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. 


261 


“It is a true test of love. You had to choose once be- 
fore between me and money — then you chose money. I 
place the two before you again — which will you choose ? 
You can not plead youth, or ignorance, or vanity, or even 
undue influence now. You have learned many things, and 
I say this is a true test of love. But, Violet, it is not fair 
to ask you to decide hurriedly — take time over it. It is 
much to ask, I know ; but I offer something better in re- 
turn — and you shall never repent the sacrifice. ” 

“ All the world would laugh at me, ” she said. 

“ The world would say you had given up all for love. But, 
Violet, mind, I do not wish to persuade you. I leave the 
decision to yourself. For the second time in your life you 
have to choose between love and money. Ponder it, and 
tell me in a few days what you have decided upon. ” 

She looked up at him wistfully. 

“ Is that your final decision, Felix ?” she asked. 

“Yes; I cannot change it, Violet. Most men make an 
idol of something ; my idol is self-respect, ” he replied. 

“ Could you not make an idol of me ?” she whispered. 

“Yes, if you are not framed in a golden setting,” he an- 
swered. 

She was silent then for a few minutes, while the firelight 
played over her golden hair, and he drew the long shining 
tresses through his Angers. She laid her head on his breast 
and closed her eyes. 

“Let me rest here for a few minutes,” she said; “here 
only have I ever found rest on earth. ” 

When she raised her eyes to his they were wet with 
tears. 

“ Felix,” she said, “I must go now; it is growing late. 
Will you kiss me before I go?” 

He bent down and kissed the lovely face — not once, but 
many times. Then she arose to quit the room. He remem- 
bered long afterward how she kept her eyes fixed on his 
face until she reached the door. 

“Good-by, Felix,” she said, and the very tone of her 
voice was like a sigh. 

He had kept himself outwardly very calm during the 
interview. Violet did not know what a terrible tempest 
was raging within him. He threw aside paper and pen 
when the door was closed. 

“I can write no more,” he said. 

His heart beat fast and his brain seemed to be on Are — 
every pulse throbbed wildly, every nerve Avas strained. 


262 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN, 


“I must go out into the air,” he told himself; ‘‘these 
walls are stifling me. ” 

He went out through the window, and he spent the 
night, as he had spent many another, in walking rapidly, 
so that he might beat down the temptation that was come 
to him. 

For it was a temptation. So loving and so lovely, so 
gracious and fair, was Violet that he could have clasped 
her to his breast, and have cried out in rapture that she 
was his. But honor stood between them. He would never 
accept the dead man’s gold. 

In the morning he did not see Violet at the early break- 
fast. Miss Hethcote came down and made tea. Lady 
Chevenix had sent her, she said. She did not seem quite 
well. Miss Hethcote looked inquiringly at Felix, as though 
she would fain ask what had passed between them, but no 
word was spoken, and Darcy Lonsdale left Garswood quite 
unconscious that it had been offered to his son. 

The next two days were days of torture to Felix. How he 
passed them he never knew. On the third came a letter in 
the well-known handwriting, with the faint familiar odor 
of violets. He knew it was Violet’s answer ; and, though 
he was a strong, brave man, he trembled to open it. 
Within that folded paper lay the words that might affect 
the whole of his future life. Either Violet had written to 
say that for his sake she would give up wealth, luxury, 
and magnificence, or she had decided on giving him up to 
retain that to which perhaps her heart clung. 

“It was the only test,” he said, as he took the letter in 
his hand. 


CHAPTEE XLVII. 

A QUIET WEDDING. 

This was Violet’s response to Felix Lonsdale’s request 
about dead Sir Owen’s wealth : 

“My Deae Felix: — I have thought well over the matter recently 
discussed by ns, and I have decided. I know that I am weaker than 
a woman — bnt I cannot give up my fortune. It seems to me such a 
foolish thing to do. After being accustomed to every luxury, I could 
not give it up. I love you, and shall always love you ; but the test 
was too hard. I have pictured myself back in the old scenes, leading 
the old life, and I could not undergo it. I would most cheerfully 
share all I have with you, but I cannot give it up for you — do you 
think it was quite right to ask me ? 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


263 


“I do not snpi^ose I shall ever be happy— but yon will. I am not 
noble enough for yon ; and, if you had married me your disappoint- 
ment would have been great. You will meet some day a noble woman 
whom you will love and marry. I know that, in saying ‘ good-by’ 
now, I say it forever ; but forever I shall be your unhappy, Violet.” 

He laid the letter down and looked at it. He had almost 
expected such an answer, yet his disappointment was 
great, and his eyes filled with tears. It had been very 
sweet and very dear to him, this precious love-story — and 
the end was sorrow ; still he could not be surprised. 

“ She has chosen that which she loves best, ” he said, 
“and I cannot blame her now. I must try to forget her.” 

He did it bravely, as he had done it before. He threw 
his whole heart into his work, and fought inch by inch 
with the great master-passion of his life. 

For some time after that it was rumored in Lilford that 
Lady Chevenix was not well ; that she had lost her color 
and her spirits ; that she was ill and saw no one. Then 
quite suddenly she sent for Darcy Loilsdale, and told him 
that she had come to the conclusion that the air of Gars- 
wood did not suit her ; that for the future she intended to 
divide her time between London and Paris. To his sur- 
prise, she added that the Marquis of Kenmore had offered 
to buy the Garswood estates, and that she thought of sell- 
ing them to him ; but it would be only on condition that 
he retained Darcy Lonsdale as his agent. 

After some months, during which Lady Chevenix and 
Felix never met, this was accomplished ; but her lady- 
ship’s removal was prevented for a time by the sudden 
death of Francis Haye. Then Mrs. Haye sold the Limes 
and went away with her daughter. So it came to pass that, 
before six months were over, the names of Chevenix and 
Haye were no longer to be found in the county. 

Great had been the surprise. The whole neighborhood 
was stirred. It was much to be regretted that such a 
change should take place. But Lord Arlington and Cap- 
tain Hill said gravely that it was the best thing Lady 
Chevenix could do. She had suffered much at the Hall — 
she would probably begin quite new in life in an unfamil- 
iar place. 

The new occupants of Garswood — the Marquis of Ren- 
more, with his two maiden sisters and a large household of 
servants — gave more satisfaction to the public in general 
than the wealthy baronet had done. It was an excellent 
agency for the Lonsdales, who, by dint of industry and 
perseverance, were rapidly amassing a fortune. Darcy was 




WEAKEH THAN A WOMAK 


growing old, and did not go so often to the office. The 
“small army” were rapidly growing up. Everything was 
prosperous and happy where so many trials had once 
seemed to threaten general destruction. Kate was one of 
the leading ladies now in Lilford — and very much enjoyed 
the position. Time had softened Miss Lester, while Eve 
had grown more beautiful and spirituelle. 

Felix worked on steadily. He still made his home with 
his father, but Katie, in speaking of him, said, with tears 
in her eyes, that some day Providence would reward him 
for his goodness to them, and that he would find a wife 
worthy to be his partner for life. 

He went to see Evelyn when he had an hour to spare ; 
they were the best of friends. Years afterward he saw how 
she had guided him without ever seeming to advise — how 
she had influenced him without ever seeming to use her 
influence ; and when he began the great battle of political 
life she was his right hand. 

The time that had been foreseen and prophesied had ar- 
rived. The borough of Ordstone was vacant, and through 
the interest of Lord Arlington, Felix had been returned. 

It was no surprise, for every one had prophesied it. 
Genius must and will make its way to the front when it is 
allied with perseverance and industry ; genius alone does 
little. 

“M. P. for Ordstone.” Felix Lonsdale was pleased — he 
exulted as men exult. He had now a foremost place — he 
had made a name. Like all other men worthy of anything, 
he was ambitious ; and it seemed to him that his ambition 
would be realized. 

On the evening of the day of his election it was some 
relief to him to escape from the noise of the crowd, and 
spend a quiet hour with Evelyn. How she rejoiced with 
him ! How she exulted in his success ! How wise and 
sweet she was in her counsel ! It seemed to him as though 
his soul had found one more than a friend. 

“My foot is on the first step of the ladder. Eve, how 
high shall I climb, do you think ?” 

He never forgot the beautiful, earnest look on her fair 
face as she answered : 

“As high as heaven, I hope.” 

And those few words, spoken by the tender lips of a noble 
woman, were to him like an eloquent sermon. From that 
hour his life seemed to have higher and better aims, and 
into it came no dream of woman’s love, until one day, 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN ' ^ 265 

Kate, having some leisure, had a long conversation with 
him. 

“Can you understand an allegory, Felix?” she asked 
him. 

“Yes, I think so,” he replied. “Try me, madreN 

“There was once a man,” began Kate, “who stood with 
his feet firmly planted upon the earth, and his eyes very 
often looking up at the clouds. At his feet lay a most 
beautiful pearl of priceless value, and at a distance lay a 
worthless piece of shining glass. This man of whom I 
speak trod upon the pearl until it was almost hidden in the 
dust, while he went eagerly in search of the bit of glass. 
Do you understand, Felix ?” she asked, after a few minutes. 

“ Only very vaguely, madre. I am the man. I recog- 
nize the bit of shining glass, but not the pearl. ” 

“Not the pearl !” repeated Kate. “Well, that proves what 
I have often thought, that, while men may be clever and 
keen and intellectual, they may, at the same time, be blind 
as bats. That pearl has been under your eyes for many 
years. Ah, I see you do not understand !” 

Nor did he. Kate went on talking to him. 

“ You will be a man of mark, Felix — every one says so. 
.But you will be like all other men ; you will want a good 
wife. If the facts could be got at, it would be found that 
some of the greatest men of the day owe much of their 
fame to the wise guidance of a wise wife. ” 

“I believe that,” he replied, “but — ah, well, we need not 
talk about it, madre. I suppose a man’s fate is settled for 
him.” 

“A man’s fate is just what he likes to make it,” declared 
Kate. “When you are inclined to marry, never mind 
beauty ; look out for a noble woman — nobility of character 
is far better than beauty. ” 

The words struck him as being but the repetition of other 
words written to him. 

“The world is full of noble women,” Kate continued. 
“Look at Eve Lester. Where would you find one sweeter, 
more gracious, or noble ? She is true and tender and ear- 
nest ; she has a fund of clear common sense ; she has a 
vivid, bright imagination, a quick, poetical fancy ; and, 
as for beauty, I see more in her sweet, fair face than in 
any face I have ever seen. ” 

“ Eve Lester !” he cried. “ Certainly no woman could be 
nobler. Oh, madre^ is she the pearl ?” 

“Yes ; you most blind, most dear, most obtuse of good 


266 


4 T ■ 


WEAKEB THAN A WOMAN 


boys ! She is the pearl, and you never saw her in your 
hurry to pick up the worthless shining colored glass.” 

Eve Lester. How blind he had been ! He looked up at 
Kate. 

“Do you know, madrc,” he said, “she has been so much 
part of my life — all my life — that I have never thought of 
her apart from myself. ” 

A wise woman always knows when she has said enough. 
Kate turned the conversation ; nor could he persuade her 
to say more about Eve. But the idea had taken hold of 
him, and Kate smiled softly to herself on seeing how 
deeply he was engrossed in thought during the remainder 
of that evening. 

Felix had never realized until then what Eve was to him. 
He went back over all his life. She had been his adviser, 
his counselor, his friend. She had aroused all noble 
thoughts in him, all great desires. She had fired his ambi- 
tion ; she had shown him his road in life. He had never 
dreamed how much he owed to her infiuence until he 
thought all this over. 

He remembered how, in the darkest hour of his father’s 
life, when earth was all cold, and the heavens seemed 
made of brass, she came to his house like an angel of light 
and consolation. She had offered him her all, and was 
honestly grieved because he would not take it. As Felix 
sat thinking of her, he recalled a thousand instances of 
her sweet wisdom and goodness. 

“It is true,” he mused ; “we are sometimes perfectly ig- 
norant of. our greatest blessings. I should never have 
known all that Eve has been to me until I lost her. ” 

Under this new light, he said to himself that he must see 
her, he must go over and talk to her, he must discover 
what she really was to him — how dear, how needful — and 
he would do it at once ; there should be no delay. 

He went the next day, and the result of their conversa- 
tion was that he did not leave her until she had promised 
to be his wife ; for he found out that she loved him, and 
had loved him only all her life — he found out that he had 
indeed been blind and foolish, for she was really the one 
great treasure of his life. 

The engagement afforded the greatest of pleasure to all 
their friends ; there was not one dissentient voice. And 
now, indeed, Kate Lonsdale was happy. 

“I shall l3e the dowager Lady Lonsdale,” she said to 
Eve, with a happy laugh. “ There has been only one mis- 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. ‘ 267 

take from the beginning. Felix ought to have chosen you 
from the first.” 

“It is sufficient,” returned Eve, “that he has chosen me 
now. ” 

She asked him one day : 

“ Why do you always call me ‘Pearl,’ Felix? It is not 
my name. ” 

“ It is my name for you, ” he replied, “ and I shall use no 
other. ” But he never told her why ; the past conversation 
between Kate and himself remained a secret. 

There could have been no happier marriage. Felix had 
a beautiful house prepared for his wife — not the pretty cot- 
tage orne where his golden-haired love had stood and de- 
cided that it was not good enough for her, but a fair and 
pleasant mansion, standing in the midst of sunny grounds 
— a home that a princess might have envied because of its 
artistic beauty and bright aspect. 

It was a quiet wedding, but Eve would have it so. She 
would have neither carriages nor a train of bridesmaids, 
nor children strewing flowers, nor any of the ceremonies 
that attend a country public wedding. She walked quietly 
to the dear old church at Lilford, looking very fair and 
sweet, with the light flush caused by the morning air on 
her face. The sunlight streamed in at the windows as she 
plighted her faith to the only man she had ever loved, and 
whom she was to love forever. 

Then Felix took her away to the Lakes, and they were 
very happy. 

They were sitting one day on the border of Windermere, 
when Eve raised her sweet face to her husband, and said : 

“ Felix, you love me very much now ?” 

“Yes, my pearl — more than you know,” he replied. 

“ Do you — do not be cross with me because I ask the 
question — do you ever think of Violet?” 

He took her hands in his own, and kissed them. 

“Listen, darling,” he said. “I will answer you in other 
words than my own — sweeter, indeed, than any words that 
I could say : 

“ ‘ Within the kingdom of my soul 
I bid you enter, love, to-day— 

Submit my life to your control, 

And give my heart up to your sway. 

‘ One only thought remains apart, 

And will forever so remain ; 

There is one chamber in my heart — 

There even you might knock in vain. 


m 


WEAKER THAK A WOMAN. 


‘“A haunted chamber, long ago 
I closed it, and I cast the key 
Where deep and bitter waters flow 
. Into a waste and silent sea. 

“ ‘ Dear, it is haunted. All the rest 

Is yours ; but I have shut that door 
Forever now. ’Tis even best 
That I should enter it no more. 

‘ No more. It is not well to stay 

With ghosts, their very look would scare 
Your joyous loving smile away — 

So never try to enter there. 

“ ‘Check, if you love me, all regret 

That this one thought remains apart; 

Now let us smile, dear, and forget 
The haunted chamber in my heart.’ ” 

When he had finished he bent down, and kissed the fair 
face, and Eve, knowing the way to his heart, said : 

“I am quite content, and I trust you.” 

And they talked of other things, while the sun shone over 
the lake and the birds sang their sweetest. 


CHAPTER XLVIII. 

DESOLATE SPLENDOR. 

Five years had passed since Felix took his fair wife home 
to Eden House— he would call it “ Eden” because it held 
his Eve — and Eve was now one of the happiest women in 
the kingdom. For in the room where she spent her morn- 
ings— a bright sunny room looking upon a beautiful world 
of trees and flowers— stood a little cot, and in this cot slept 
a baby — Eve’s baby. He was, his mother said, the loveli- 
est, the finest, the most intelligent in the whole world, and 
Felix laughed as she defied any one to produce such 
another. 

Felix wanted Eve to accompany him for the Parliament- 
ary session. She looked longingly at the baby, and then 
longingly at him. 

‘‘ How can I possibly leave little Lester ?” she said. “ Aunt 
J ane would take great care of him, but she says he wants 
reforming — and I should not like to have him reformed. ” 

“ Bring him with you. Pearl, and he can assist the Legis- 
lature of the nation,” replied Felix, laughingly. 

And Eve was only too pleased to comply. 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. 


269 


No happier household ever settled for a time in the mod- 
ern Babylon. Felix took very nice apartments, where his 
wife could enjoy London to her heart’s content. Eve was 
wise in one respect. She never merged the wife in the 
mother. She never neglected her husband for her child. 
She was so discreet and wise in the management of her 
time that, while she was one^of the most devoted mothers 
in the world, she was at the same time one of the most de- 
voted wives. Felix never felt, as some husbands do, that 
he had a rival in his own child. 

They went to London when Parliament opened, and when 
May came around the great city wore its fairest dress. 

They sat at breakfast one bright morning, with ‘‘ the un- 
equaled baby,” as Felix called him, rolling on a thick rug 
at their feet, when a letter was brought addressed to “ Mrs. 
Felix Lonsdale, 13 Upper Park Gardens,” and, as he placed 
it in his wife’s hands, Felix recognized the delicate hand- 
writing, while he smelled a faint odor of violets. 

Eve opened it quickly, and then, pale and breathless, 
looked up at her husband. 

“Listen, Felix,” she said, after a few seconds, and she 
read ; 

“ My Dear Eve : — I should like to see you and Felix once more. 
My husband is not well, and the doctors have ordered him to go to 
the south of France or Italy — we think of going to Florence — and it 
may be years before I return. Let me see you both before I go. When 
I read your names among the arrivals, it seemed to me that a breath 
of Lilford air passed over me. You will not refuse me the last favor 
I shall ever ask of you? Call at Rokely House at two. o’clock to- 
day. I shall wait for you. Ever your friend, Violet Rokely.” 

Eve looked up again. 

“Rokely!” she said. “Why, Felix, is Violet married 
again ?” 

“She married the Duke of Rokely three months ago,” re- 
plied Felix. “ I said nothing to you about it. She has mar- 
ried one of the wealthiest dukes in England.” 

“She was beautiful enough for a duchess,” said Eve, 
gently. 

“She is not so beautiful in my eyes as you, my pearl,” 
rejoined Felix, and there was truth in his voice. His wife 
smiled. 

“ What about the haunted chamber ?” she asked. 

“It is swept and garnished,” he replied. She smiled 
proudly. 

“ When I heard what you said about it I made a resolu- 
tion that I would get into the haunted chamber,” she told 


270 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. 


him. “ Some one said once that blonde women were all 
insipid and weak of purpose. It is not true, is it, Felix ?” 

“No,” he replied. 

“Now,” said his lovely wife, “if I looked into that cham- 
ber, what should I see ?” 

“Your own image,” he answered, and she believed him. 

“We will go and see Violet, Duchess of Eokely,” she 
said, “ if you are willing. That is not the letter of a happy 
woman. ” 

She understood why he was so anxious about her toilet 
— why he insisted that she should wear the fashionable 
spring silk and the pretty Parisian bonnet. He kissed her 
when she stood ready dressed. 

“I am so proud of you, my darling,” he whispered. 

And those few words brought a lovely flush to her fair 
face and made her fairer than ever ; then they drove off to- 
gether to Eokely House. 

It was one of the finest ducal mansions in London. Eve 
was awe struck as the great hall door opened and she saw 
the liveried servants and the magnificence that might have 
befitted the palace of a king. Her Grace, the Duchess of 
Eokely was at home, and awaited them. 

They went through suite after suite of magnificent rooms 
until they reached her grace’s boudoir, where she had 
elected to receive them. It was a superb apartment — octa- 
gon-shaped — the panels and ceiling most exquisitely 
painted, the hangings all of blue velvet and gold ; priceless 
treasures of art lavishly scattered around, buhl, marquetry, 
old china, rare pictures, most exquisite statues— orna- 
ments of gold and silver, and in the midst of all this mag- 
nificence stood an imperially beautiful woman, who looked 
at it all with proudly contemptuous eyes. 

Violet had grown even more beautiful. Her superb figure 
was more fully developed ; her fair face had something in 
it haughtier and colder. Very proud she looked as she 
stood there, dressed in her favorite colors, blue and white 
— a dress of blue velvet relieved by trimmings of white 
silk. In one hand she held a priceless fan ; the other white 
and jeweled hand lay upon the table. 

Her lovely face grew white even to the lips as Eve and 
Felix entered the gorgeous room, but she advanced to meet 
them ; she took Eve’s hands in her own, and looked at 
Felix. 

“ I am so glad to see you. It wa^ kind of you to come. I 
longed to see you both before I went away. Sit down and 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN 


271 


talk to me — tell me all about Lilford. I shall never see it 
again. ” 

Very soon Eve had told her all she knew, and then, as 
Lilford — to her — meant the baby, she entered into a de- 
scription of his charms. Was she mistaken, or did she 
really see tears shining in the proud eyes ? 

“ I am so glad you have a little son, Felix. I hope he 
will grow up like you, as good, as true, and as noble. ” 
Then Violet’s face flushed, and she bent her proud charm- 
ing head before them. “I may never see you again,” she 
said ; “let me say out to you all the thoughts that are in 
my heart. I am glad that you are married. I am glad, 
Eve, that Felix has found comfort in your love ; love him 
always, love him truly, love him well ; and — oh, believe 
me. Eve ! — if you have little daughters, teach them that life 
holds no treasure like love, that wealth, fame, titles, 
honors, are the shadow, love the substance.” 

“I shall be sure to teach them so, for I believe it,” re- 
marked sweet, wise Eve. 

“ I was always weaker than a woman,” declared Violet, 
with a proud, sad smile. “ I flung a treasure from me and 
lost it. Now I have everything that in my wildest dreams 
I ever longed for. I wear a coronet ; the world lies at my 
feet, and with it all, when I wake sometimes my pillow is 
wet with tears, for my heart is lonely, and will be lonely 
until I die. Still I have made my own choice. ” 

Felix saw a beautiful Sevres vase on the table near which 
she stood ; it held a spray of lilac. 

“You retain your love for the old home-flowers,” he said. 

She took the lilac from the vase, and held it to her lips. 

“ I keep them near me always, ” she said, “ when they are 
in bloom. Do you remember the lilac bushes at home, 
Felix?” 

Yes, he remembered them — and how he had suffered the 
bitterness of death while the wet branches waved above 
his head. 

Then she asked 'some questions about their home and 
their home life. 

“You are very happy,” she said. “Tell me that; it will 
be the pleasantest thing I can hear. ” 

“Yes,” replied Felix, “we are very happy.” 

She drew a costly ring from her finger. 

“ Eve, ” she said, “ wear this for my sake — it would grieve 
me so much if you refused. Now put your arms around 
my neck — you, the true wife of a true man — and kiss me. 


272 


WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. 


Say ‘Good-by, Violet.’ I never hear my own name now, 
and I am tired of titles. ” 

Felix held her hand one minute in his own. 

“ Good-by, ” she said. “ In the midst of your happy life do 
not quite forget me ; try to remember me as you knew me 
years ago — not as you know me now. ” 

And they went away, leaving her, in the midst of her 
desolate splendor, with the spray of lilac in her hand. 

[THE END.] 


“A MOMENT OF MADNESS,” by Charles J. Bellamy, 
will be published in the next number (46) of The Select 
Series. 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 

By NEIL BURGESS. 

Written from the celebrated play now 
running its second continuous season in 
New York, and booked to run a third sea- 
son in the same theater. 

The scenes are among the New Hamp- 
shire hills, and picture the bright side of 
country life. The story is full of amusing 
events and happy incidents, something 
after the style of our ‘‘Old Homestead,” 
which is having such an enormous sale. 

^^THE COUNTY FAIR” will be one 
of the great hits of the season, and should 
you fail to secure a copy you will miss a 
literary treat. It is a spirited romance of 
town and country, and a faithful repro- 
duction of the drama, with the same unique 
characters, the same graphic scenes, but 
with the narrative more artistically rounded, and completed than was 
possible in the brief limits of a dramatic representation. This touch- 
ing story effectively demonstrates that it is possible to produce a novel 
which is at once wholesome and interesting in every part, without the 
introduction of an impure thought cr suggestion. Read the following 

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS: 

Mr. Neil Burgass has rewritten his play, “The County Fair,” in story form. It 
rounds out a narrative which is comparatively but sketched in the play. It only needs 
the first sentence to set going the memory and imagination of those who have seen the 
latter and whet the appetite for the rest of this lively conception of a live dramatist.— 
Brooklyn Daily Eagle. 

As “The County Fair” threatens to remain in New York for a long time the general 
public out of town may be glad to learn that the playwright has put the piece into print 
m the form of a story. A tale based upon a play may sometimes lack certain literary 
qualities, but it never is the sort of thing over which any one can fall asleep. For- 
tunately, “The County Fair” on the stage and in print is by the same author, so there 
can be no reason for fearing that the book misses any of the points of the drama which 
has been so successful,— A\ Y. Herald. 

The idea of turning successful plays into novels seems to be getting popular. The 
latest book of this description is a story reproducing the action and incidents of Neil 
Burgess’ play, “The County Fair.” The tale, which is a romance based on scenes of 
home life and domestic joys and sorrows, follows closely the lines of the drama in 
story and lAot.— Chicago Daily News. 

Mr. Burgess’ amusing play, “The County Fair.” has been received with such favor 
that he has worked it over and expanded it into a novel of more than 200 pages. It will 
be enjqv^ed even by those w^ho have never heard the play and still more by those who 
have.— Cincinnati 'IHmes-Star. 

This touching story effectively demonstrates that it is P 9 ssible to produce a novel 
which is at once wholesome and interesting in every part, without the introduction of 
an inquire thought or suggestion.— .4 Press. 

Street & Smith have issued “The County Fair.” This is a faithful reproduction of 
the drama of that name and is an affecting and vivid story of domestic life, joy and 
sorrow, and rural scenes.— /S’an Francisco Call. 

This romance is ^vritten from the play of this name and is full of touching incidents. 
—Eiansville Journal. 

It is founded on the ixipularplay of the same name, in Avhich Neil Burgess, who is 
also the author of the story, has achieved the dramatic success of the season.— F’aW 
nicer Herald. 

Tlxo OoTXixty is No. 33 of “The Select Series,” for 

sale by all Newsdealers, or will be sent, on receipt of price, 26 cents, to any 
address, postpaid, by STREET & SUUTR, RubUshers, 25-31 Rose st.. New York. 



DENMAN THOMPSON’S OLD HOMESTEAD. 

SIBEET & SMITH’S SELECT SERIES No. 88. 


JPrice» Oents. 


Some Opinions of the Press# 

••As the prohahillfcles are remote of the play ’The Old Homestead > being 
seen anywhere but in large cities it is only fair that the story of the piece should 
be printed. Like most stories writte*^. from plays it contains a great deal wliich 
Is not said or done on the boards, yet it is no more verbose than such a story 
should be, and it gives some good pictures of the scenes and people who for a 
year or more have been delighting thousands nightly. Uncle Josh, Aunt Tildy, 
Old Cy Prime, Reuben, the mytliical Bill Jones, the sheriff and all the other char- 
acters are here, beside some new ones. It is to be honed that the book will make 
a large sale, not only on its merits, but that other play owners may feel encour- 
aged to let tlielr works be read by the many thousands who cannot hope to see 
them on the stage.”— iV. F. Herald, June 2d. 

“Denman Tliompson’s ‘The Old Homestead’ is a story of clouds and sunshine 
alternating over a venerat d home; of a grand old man. honest and blunt, who 
loves his honor as he loves his life, yet suffers the agony of the condemned in 
learning of the deplorable conduct of a wayward son; a story of country life, love 
and jealousy, without an impure tliought, and with the liealthy flavor of the 
fields in every chapter. It is founded on Denman Thompson s drama of ‘The 
Old Homestead.’ A. Y. Press, May 26th. 

“Messrs. Street & Smith, publishers of the New YorTc Weekly, have brought 
out in book-form the story of ‘ The Old Homestead,’ the play which, as produced 
by Mr. Denman Tlioinpson, has met witli ach wondrous success. It will proba 
bly have a great sale, thus justifying the foresight of the publishers in giving the 
drama this permanent fiction form.”— A. F. Morning Journal, June 2d. 

“ The popularity of Denman Thompson’s play of ‘The Old Homestead’ has 
encouraged Street & Smith, evidently with his permission, to publlsli a good-sized 
novel with the same title, set in the same scenes and including the same charac- 
ters and more too. The book is a fair match for the play in the simple good taste 
and real ability with wliicli it is written. The publishers are Street & Smith, and 
they have gotten the volume up in cheap popular form.”— A. F. Graphic, May 29. 


“Denman Thompson’s play, ‘The Old Homestead,’ is familiar, at least by rep- 
utation, to every piay-goer in the country. Its truth to nature and its simple 
pathos have been admirably preserved in this story, which is founded upon It 
and follows its incidents closely. The requirements of the stag make the action 
a little hurried at times, but the scenes described are brought before the mind’s 
eye with remarkable vividness, and the portrayal of life in the little New Eng- 
land town is almost perfect. Those who have never seen the play can get an 
excellent idea of what it is like from the book. Both are free from sentimentality 
and sensation, and are remarkably healthy in Albany Express. 

“Denman Thompson’s ‘Old Homestead’ has been put into story-form and la Is- 
sued by Street & Smith. The story will somewhat explain to those who have not 
seen it the great popularity of the Brooklyn Times, June 8th. 

“The fame of Denman Thompson’s play, ‘Old Homestead,’ is world-wide. 
Tens of thousands have enjoyed it, and frequently recall the pure, lively pleasure 
they took in its representation. This is the story told in narrative form as well 
as it was told on the stage, and will be a treat to all, whether they have seen the 
play or not."— National 'Jb'ibune, Washington, D. C. 


“Here we have the shaded lanes, the dusty roads, the hilly pastures, the 
peaked roofs, the school-house, and the familiar faces of dear old Swanzey, and 
the story which, dramatized, has packed the largest theat-er in New York, and 
has been a success everywhere because of its true and sympathetic touches of 
nature. All the Incidents which have held audiences spell-bound are here re- 
corded— the accusation of robbery directed against the innocent boy, his shame, 
and leaving home ; the dear old Aunt Tilda, who has been courted for thirty 
years by the mendacious Cy Prime, who has never had the courage to propose x 
the fall of the country boy into the temptations of city life, and his recovery by 
the good old man who braves the metropolis t« And him. The story embodies aU 
that the play tells, ana' all that it suggests as weU.”— ATamos City JcnvmaL 
May 2Tth. 


BERTHA M. CLAY’S 

Copyright Novels, 

IN' 

The Select Series. 

Fx^xoe, 25 Oexxts E3a.cli.. 


FULLY ILLUSTRATED. 


No. 22.-A HEART’S BITTERNESS. 

No. 28.-A HEART’S IDOL. 

No. 36.-THE GIPSY’S DAUGHTER. 
No. 37.-IN LOVES CRUCIBLE. 

No. 39.-MARJORIE DEANE. 

TLese novels are among tlie Lest ever writ- 
ten by BERTHA M. CLAY, and are enjoying 
an enormons sale. Tbey are copyrighted and 
can be bad only in THE SELECT SERIES. 


For sale by all Booksellers and News Agents, or will be sent, post- 
paid, to any address in the United States or Canada, on receipt of 
price, 25 cents each, by 

STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 

P. 0. Box 2734. 14 ^ 31 Rose Street, New York, 


Mrs. Georrie Sheldon's 

Copyright Novels, 

iisr 

The Select Series. 


Fx>ice, as Oexxts XSa.olx. 


FULLY ILLUSTRATED. 


No. 16-SIBYL’S INFLUENCE. 

No. 24-THAT DOWDY. 

No. 43-TRIXY. 

No. 44-A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 

These novels, from the pen of onr gifted au- 
thor, who writes exclusively for ns, are among 
her most popular productions, and hold the front 
rank in first-class literature. 


For sale by all Booksellers and News Agents, or will be sent, post- 
paid, to any address in the United States or Canada, on receipt of 
price, 25 cents each, by 

STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 

P. O. Box 2734. 31 Rose Street, New York. 


STREET & SMITH’S SELECT SERIES 

OP 

fOPULAE AMEEIOM OOPTEIGHT STOEIES, 

BY POPULAE AUTHOES. 


In Handsome Haper Covers, S5 Cents, 


Iff-o. I. 

A STORY OF POWER AND PATHOS. 


THE SENATOR’S BRIDE. 


By Mrs. ALEX. McVEIGH MILLER, 

Author of “Brunette and Blonde,” “Lady Gay’s Pride,” etc. 


This is a domestic story of deep interest, charmingly writt«-/|^ 
with vigor and earnestness, and has not a dull scene in it. The 
author’s purpose is to portray nature ; she therefore avoids all 
extravagance, and relies entirely upon her ability to entertain 
her readers with the presentation of scenes and incidents that 
never surpass probability, yet are extremely captivating. 

The story of “The Senator’s Bride” is something more than 
a work of fiction. It contains a moral that is certain to be im- 
pressed upon all w'ho follow the career of the wife who wrecked 
her happiness because she respected herself too much to deceive 
her husband. 


PRICE, TWENTY-FIVE CENTS. 

Issued in clean, large type, with handsome lithographed 
cover, and for sale by all Booksellers and Newsdealers ; or sent, 
postage free, to any address, on receipt of price, by the pub- 
lishers, 

P. 0- Box 2734. 31 Rose St., New York. 


STREET & SMITH’S SELECT SERIES 

OP 

POPULAR AMEEIOAN COPYRIGHT STORIES, 

BY POPULAE AUTHOES. 


In Mandsome I*aper Covers, S5 Cents. 


1 ^ 0 . 2 . 

A VIGOROUS DRAMATIC STORY. 


A WEDDED WIDOW ; 

OR, 

THE LOVE THAT LIVED. 


By T. •W. H ANSPIEW, 

AUTHOR OF 

‘‘Youngr ULra, Chamlei&li,” “Beautiful, but Dangrerous,” etc. 


An admirably told love story, brisk in action, vritli well 
drawn characters, and a novel and ingenious plot. 


PRICE, TWENTY-riVE CENTS. 


Issued in clean, large type, with handsome lithographed 
cover, and for sale by all Booksellers and Newsdealers ; or sent, 
postage free, to any address, on receipt of price, by the pul> 
Ushers, 

STPiEET &c SIS/CITH, 

P. 0* Box 2734^ 31 Rose St., New York. 


STREET & SMITH’S SELECT SERIES 

OP 

POPULAE AMEEIOAN COPYEIGHT STOEIES, 

BY POPULAE AUTHOES. 


In Handsome Haper Covers, 25 Cents. 


XO'o. 3 . 

Entrancing Love Story. 


VELLA VERNELL; 

OE, 

AN AMAZING MARRIAGE. 


By Mrs. SUMNER HAYDEN, 

Author of “Little Goldie,” etc. 


In originality of conception, and artistic skill in the construc- 
tion and development of plot, the story of “Vella Veknell” will 
compare favorably with the most meritorious works of fiction. 
The language is graceful and forcible ; the style is earnest and 
captivating ; the incidents are novel and dramatic — a series of 
animated pictures, so very life-like that the reader becomes 
Impressed with their reality ; the characters are capitally drawn, 
and speak and act like sentient beings ; while the plot is fresh 
and ingenious, and evolved with the tact of a master-hand. 


PRICE, TWENTY-FIVE CENTS. 


Issued in clean, large type, with handsome lithographed 
cover, and for sale by all Booksellers and Newsdealers ; or sent, 
postage free^ to any address, on receipt of price, by the pub« 
lishers, 

STREET Ssc SlvUTH, 

P. 0- Box 2734. 31 Rose St., New York. 


The Select Series. 


A SEMI-MONTHLY PUBLICATION 

DEVOTED TO BOOD EEADISB IB AMEEICAS nCTION. 


PmOE 15 oms EACH. FULLY ILLUSTRATED. 


Xj^test TsiS'u.eiS. 


No. 37-IN LOTE’S CRUCIBLE, by Bertha M. Clay. 

No. 36— THE GIPSY’S DAUGHTER, by Bertha M. Clay. 

No. 35-CECILE’S MARRIAGE, by Lucy RandaU Comfort, 

No, 34-THE LITTLE WIDOW, by JuUa Edwards. 

No. 33-THE COUNTY FAIR, by Neil Burgess. 

No. 32-LADY BYHOPE’S LOYER, by Emma Garrison Jones. 
No. 31 — MARRIED FOB GOLD, by Mrs. E. Burke CoUins. 

No. 30- PRETTIEST OF ALL, by Julia Edwards. 

No. 29— THE HEIRESS OFEGREMONT, by Mrs. Harriet Lewis. 
No. 28— A HEART’S IDOL, by Bertha M. Clay. 

No. 27 -WINIFRED, by Mary Kyle DaUas. 

No. 26— FONTELBOY, by Francis A. Durivage. 

No. 26-THE KING’S TALISMAN, by Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. 

No. 24 — THAT DOWDY, by Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. 

No. 23-DENMAN THOMPSON’S OLD HOMESTEAD. 

No. 22-A HEART’S BITTERNESS, by Bertha M. Clay. 

No. 21— THE LOST BRIDE, by Clara Augusta. 

No. 20-ING0MAR, by Nathan D. Urner. 

No. 19-A LATE REPENTANCE, by Mrs. Mary A. Denison. 
No. 18— ROSAMOND, by Mrs. Alex. McYeigh MiUer. 

No. 17-THE HOUSE OF SECRETS, by Mrs. Harriet Lewis. 
No. 16-SIBYL’S INFLUENCE, by Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. 

No. lo-THE YIRGINIA HEIRESS, by M.ay Agnes Fleming. 

No. 14-FLORENCE FALKLAND, by Bmke Brentford. 

No. 13— THE BRIDE ELECT, by Annie Ashmore. 

No. 12-THE PHANTOM WIFE, by Mrs. M. V. Victor. 

No. 11 — BADLY MATCHED, by Helen Corwin Pierce. 

The above works are for sale by all Newsdealers, or will be sent to any 
address, postpaid, on receipt of price, 26 cents each, by the publishers, 

STREET & SMITH, 

81 Bose Street, ITew fork. 


P. O. Box 2734. 


BEN HAMED; 

OR, 

THE CHILDEEN OF FATE. 

By STLVANUS COBB, Jr. 



25 Oexxts. 


WHAT THE PKESS SAY OF IT. 

•<Ben Hained” Is an Oriental romance by Sylvanus Cobb, which recalls 
the delightful stories of the “Arabian Nights,” without their supernatural 
effects. Indeed, our old friend Harouu A1 Raschid figures prominentlj" in 
this work, and is closely identified with the hero and heroine— the devoted 
Assad and the fair Morgiana. It is a romance of pure love, with an in- 
genious and cleverly sustained ^lot.—Grand liapids Democrat, Aug. 8. 

“Ben Hamed” is the title of an Oriental romance not unlike the stories of 
the “Arabian Nights.” It is a romance of pure love. A number of strong 
characters combine with the hero and heroine in the solution of an ingenious 
plot.— Harrisburg Patriot, July 28. 

Street & Smith of New York have published “Ben Hamed; or, The Chil- 
dren of Fate,” by Sylvanus Cobb, Jr., which is No. 8 of the Sea and Shore 
Series. This book is an Oriental romance, which recalls the “Arabian 
Nights,” without their supernatural effects. The plot is ingenious and well 
sustained, and brings out a romance of pure love in a charming manner.— 
^San Francisco Morning Call, July 21. 

“Ben Hamed” is an Oriental romance by Sylvanus Cobb, Jr., published in 
paper by Street & Smith, New York city. It is clever in the way that all of 
Cobb’s stories are olovov.— Indianapolis News, July 20. 

“Ben Hamed is a capital story, progressive in action, interesting from 
the opening line, and with a charming love romance, on which are strung 
ina^.^remarkable incidents. — Acton Star, July 21. 

A capital story of Eastern life, which must have been suggested by a 
perusal of the “Arabian Nights,” is Sjfivanus Cobb’s Oriental narrative of 
“Ben Hamed ; or, The Children of Fate.” It is admirably told, full vof in- 
terest, and cannot fail to charm all who begin its perusal. — JIow /ana 
Sun, Sept. 22. 

Street & Smith, of the New York Weekly, have published “Ben 
Hamed; or. The Children of Fate,” by Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. This is an 
Oriental romance, accentuated by a very strong and ingenious plot.— 
Paid Pioneer Press, July 21. 

Street & Smith, New York, publish in paper covers “Ben Hamed,” an 
Oriental romance, by Sylvanus Cobb, which recalls the delightful stories of 
the “Arabian Nights,” without their supernatural effects.” — Cincinnati 
Enquirer, 

“Ben Hamed.” an Oriental romance, by Sylvanus Cobb, is published by 
Street & Smith, New York. It is one of Cobb’s characteristic romances, 
Haroim A1 Ras(rhid being a prominejit figure. There is nothing strained or 
unnatural in “Ben Hamed,” it recalling the stories of the “Arabian Nights,” 
Without their supernatural oftecta.— Minneapolis Triune, July 21. 


POPULAR AMERICAN COPYRIGHT NOVELS, 

BY NOTABLE AUTHORS. 


THU 




3Nro- 4 

m 


CISilTH OF Lf ONS : 


OR, 


THE WEAVER’S WAR. 


B) PROFESSOR WM. HENRY PECK, 

AUTHOR OF 

‘‘Marlin Marduke,” “£15,000 Reward,” “Siballa, 
the Sorceress,” etc. 


From the very opening paragraph this powerful and intensely exciting 
romance enchains the attention and keeps curiosity constantly active. The 
scene opens in the manufacturing center of Lyons, during a troublesome 
period in her history, wlien the laboring classes strove to maintain their 
rights against the nobility. The hero, whom fate has made an humble 
workman, finds opportunity for the display of those self-asserting qualities, 
which always force their possessor to the front in every contest. While 
most of the action is thrilling and dramatic, a captivating love episode is 
adroitly interwoven with the main thread of the romance. The mystery 
appertaining to the early life of the Locksmith, the appalling accusation 
which makes him the victim of unseen foes, his fortitude in the most trying 
positions, and his final vindication and reward, are forcibly and sympatheti- 
cally set forth in this well constructed story. 


RRICE, 25 CIGNTS 


STREET & SMITH, PuMisliers, 

P. O. Box, 2734. 31 ROSE STREET, New York. 


Sea and Shore Series 


Stories of Strange Adventure Afloat and Asliore. 


lal MgitMr. PRICE, 25 CENTS EACH. My mgstrated 


The above-named series is issued in clear, large type, uniform in size with 
“The Select Series,” and will consist of the most thrilling and 
ingeniously constructed stories, by popular and experienced writers in the 
field of fiction. The following books are now ready : 

Ifo. 17— FEDORA, founded on the famous play of the same name^ 
by Yictorien Sardoii. 

No. 16-SIBALLA, THE SORCERESS, by Prof. Wm. H. Peck. 
No. 15-THE GOLDEN EAGLE, by Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. 

No. 11-THE FORTUNE-TELLER OF NEW ORLEANS, by 
Prof. Win. Henry Peck. 

No. 13-THE IRISH MONTE CRISTO ABROAD, by Alex. 
Robertson, 31. D. 

N^o. 12— HELD FOR RANS03I, by Lieutenant Murray. 

No. 11— THE IRISH 3IONTE CRISTO’S SEARCH, by Alex. 
Robertson, M. D. 

No. 10— LA TOSCA, from the celebrated play, by Yictorien 
Sardou. 

No. 9-THE 3IAN IN BLUE, by Mary A. Denison. 

No. 8-BEN HA3IED, by Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. 

No. 7-CONFESSIONS OF LINSKA. 

No. 6— THE MASKED LADY, by Lieutenant Murray. 

No. 6— THEODORA, from the celebrated play, by Yictorien 
Sardou. 

No. 4-THE LOCKSiMITH OF LYONS, by Prof. Wm. 
Henry Peck. 

No. 8-THE BROWN PRINCESS, by Mrs. M. T. Yictor. 

No. 2-THE SILYER SHIP, by Lewis Leon. 

No. 1-AN IRISH MONTE CRISTO. 


For sale by all Booksellers and News Agents, or will be sent, POSTAGE 
FREE, to any address in the United States or Canada, on receipt of price, 
25 cents, by the publishers, 

STREET & SMITH, 

P. O. BOX 2734. 25-3’ ROSE STREET, NEW YORK. 


The Secret Service Series, 

( S. fit. S .) 

Comprises the Best De tective Stori es by the Best A uthors. 

bsued Monflily. PRICE, 25 CENTS EACH. FuUy lUustrated. 

This series is enjoying a larger sale than any similar series ever 
published. None but American Authors are represented on our list, and 
the Books are all Copyrighted, and can be had only in the SECRET 
SERVICE SERIES. Bound m Handsome Lithograph Covers. 

LATEST ISSUES: 

No. 29-THE POKER KING, by Marline Manly. 

No. 28-BOB YOUNGER’S FATE, by Edwin S. Deane. 

No. 27-THE REVENUE DETECTIVE, by PoHce Captain 
Janies. 

No. 26-UNDER HIS THUMB, by Donald J. McKenzie. 

No. 25-THE NAVAL DETECTIVE’S CHASE, by Ned Buntline. 
No. 24-THE PRAIRIE DETECTIVE, by Leander P. 
Richardson. 

No. 23-A MYSTERIOUS CASE, by K. F. HiU. 

No. 22-THE SOCIETY DETECTIVE, by Oscar Maitland. 

No. 21-THE AMERICAN MARQUIS, by Nick Carter. 

No. 20-THE MYSTERY OF A MADSTONE, by K. F. Hill. 

No. 19-THE SWORDSMAN OF WARSAW, by Tony Pastor. 
No. 18-A WALL STREET HAUL, by Nick Carter. 

No. 17 -THE OLD DETECTIVE’S PUPIL, by Nick Carter. 
No. 16-THE MOUNTAINEER DETECTIVE, by Clayton W. 
Cobb. 

No. 15-TOM AND JERRY, by Tony Pastor. 

No. 14-THE DETECTIVE’S CLEW, by “Old Hutch.” 

No. 13-DARKE DARRELL, by Frank H. Stauffer. 

No. 12— THE DOG DETECTIVE, by Lieutenant Murray. 

No. 11-THE MALTESE CROSS, by Eugene T. Sawyer. 

No. 10-THE POST-OFFICE DETECTIVE, by Geo. W. Goode. 
No. 9— OLD MORTALITY, by Young Baxter. 

No. 8-LITTLE LIGHTNING, by Police Captain James. 

No. 7-THE CHOSEN MAN, by Judson R. Taylor. 

No. 6-OLD STONEWALL, by Judson R. Taylor. 

No. 5-THE MASKED DETECTIVE, by Judson R. Taylor. 

No. 4-THE TWIN DETECTIVES, by K. F. HiU. 

No. 3-YAN, THE GOVERNMENT DETECTIVE, by “Old 
Sleuth.” 

No. 2-BRUCE ANGELO, by “Old Sleuth.” 

No. 1-BRAN’T ADAMS, by “Old Sleuth.” 


For sale by all Newsdealers, or will be sent by mail, post-paid, on receipt of price, 
cents each, by the Publishers, STSEET & SMITH, 25-31 Hose Street, New lorh. 


WOMEN’S SECRETS 


The public are at last permitted to take a peep into the 
wonderful and mysterious art of 


“HOW TO BE BEAUTIFUL.” 


We will soon become a nation of Beauty. Bead how, in the table of 

CONTE^NTTS : 


THE VALUE OF PERSONAL BEAUTY.— Tliis chapter relates to the heauty 
in “Genius,” “Strengtli,” “Religion,” “Poetry,” and “Chivalry.” 

THE HISTORY OF BEAUTY.— Mode of acquiring it hy the people of different 
nations. What people are the most beautiful? 

VARIOUS STANDARDS OF BEAUTY.— Tastes of civilized and uncivilized 
people. The French definition of beauty. 

THE BEST STANDARD OF BEAUTY.— Defines the Head, Hair, Eyes, Cheeks, 
Ears, Nose, Mouth, Bosom, Limbs, and in fact every part of the human form. 

HOW TO RAISE BEAUTIFUL CHILDREN.— To newly married people, and 
those who contemplate entering the conjugal state, this chapter alone is 
well worth the price of the book. 

HOW TO BE BEAUTIFUL.— This chapter is full of information, as it not only 
tells how to beautify every part of the form and.features, but gives recipes 
and cures for all the ailments wiiich tend to mar or blemish. 

BEAUTY SLEEP.— To be beautiful it is not necessary to be like the bird that 
seeks its nest at sunset and goes forth again at sunrise. You will here find 
the required time to be spent in bed, the positions most conducive to health, 
facts regarding ventilation, bed-clothes, adornments, and other useful hints. 

BEAUTY FOOD.— Instructs how, when, and where to eat, and also treats of 
Digestion, Complexion, Foods which color the skin, etc. 

HOW TO BE FAT.— I’lie information imparted in this chapter will be aLjon to 
thin, delicate women, as it tells what to eat and what to avoid, also what to 
drink and how to dress when plumpness is desirable. 

HOW TO BE LEAN.— If corpulent women will carefully follow the instructions 
herein, they will be happy and enjoy life. 

BEAUTY BATHING AND EXERCISE.— This chapter is intended for every 
one to read and profit by. There is no truer saying than “Cleanliness is next 
to Godliness.” 

EFFECTS OF MENTAL EMOTIONS ON BEAUTY.-After you read this, we 
feel safe in saj’ing that you will not give way to anger, surprise, fright, grief, 
vexation, etc., but will ,at all times strive to be cheerful and make the best 
of life. 

HOW BEAUTY IS DESTROYED. — The women are warned in this chapter 
against quack doctors and their nostrums, the dangers of overdosing, and 
irregular habits. 

HOW TO REMAIN BEAUTIFUL.— It is just as easy for those that are beauti- 
ful to remain so as to allow themselves to fade away like a flower which 
only blooms fora season. 

HOW TO ACQUIRE GRACE AND STYLE.— Without grace and style beauty 
is lost. They are as essential as a beautiful face. To walk ungracefullj'^ or 
awkwardly is not only vulgar but detrimental to the health. 

THE LANGUAGE OF BEAUTY.— This chapter will enable you to read a per- 
son and learn his or her character, without the use of a phrenological chart. 

CORSETS.- When and what kind should be worn. How they were originated 
and by whom. 

CYCLING.— The latest craze for ladies is fully described in this chapter. 


WOMEN’S SECRETS; or. How to k BeautlM 

THE BEST SELLING BOOK OF THE DAY. 


Just Out. I*rice 23 Cents. 

H’or ^ale by all Newsdealei^. 


STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 

31 R/ose fc?treet» 




An Entrancing Emotional Story, 


By BERTHA M. CLAY. 


No. I Of the Primrose Edition of Copyright Novels. 


Olotlx. Px'ioe, $1. 


SOME OPINIONS OF THE PEESS. 

Messrs. Street & Smith, New York, hegiii anew series of novels— “The 
Primrose Library”— with “Another Man’s Wife,” hy Bertha M. Clay. The 
story has enough plot to keep one from falling asleep over it, and it also in- 
dicates the stumblmg-blocks aud pitfalls which abound everywhere for 
young husbands and wives who think so much about having “a good time” 
that they have no time left in which to think about reputation and 
character. — N. Y. Herald^ Sept. 10. 

Street & Smith publish the American copyright novel, “Another Man’s 
Wife,” by Bertha M. Clay. It deals with certain corrupting influences of 
fashionable society, and impressively w\arns of the dangers that spring 
from them. Its plot is strong and dramatic, and is elaborated with all of 
the qualities of style that have made the author so popular. It is the first 
issue of the new Primrose Series. — Boston Globe, Sept. 16. 

“Another Man’s Wife,” by Bertha M. Clay, Street & Smith’s Primrose 
Series, is a laudable effort toward the repression of the growing evil of 
matrimonial disloyalty. The book is handsomely bound, with a holiday 
look about it.— Brooklyn Eagle, Sept. 15. 

Street & Smith of New York publish in cloth cover “Another Man’s 
Wife,” by Bertha M. Clay. The story is effective. It imprewively ^depicts 
the resuits certain to attend the sins of deception. It teaches a lesson that 
will not be lost upon those thoughtless men and women who, only intent 
upon pleasure, little dream of the pitfall before them, and to which they are 
blind until exposure wrecks happiness.— Troy (Y. Y.) Press. 

Street & Smith, New York, have brought out in book-form “Another 
Man’s Wife.” This is one of Bertha M. Clay’s most eftective stones.— 
Cincinnati Enquirer. 

“Another Man’s Wife.” This is one of Bertha M. Clay’s most effective 
stories. It forcibly and impressibly portrays the evils certain to attend 
matrimonial deceit, clandestine interviews, and all the tricks and devices 
which imperil a wife’s honor. It has a novel and entrancmgly interesting 
plot, and abounds in vivid and dramatic incidents. It is the first issue of 
Street & Smith’s Primrose. Edition of Copyright Novels, and will not appewr 
elsewhere.— Ft'eeman, 



CINCINIIATIHAHLTON&DAYTONIUI 

THE FINEST ON EARTH 


TJE£E ONXiY 

Pullman Perfected Safety 

VESTffiBLED TRAIN MICE 


-WITH DINING- CAR 


BETWEEN 

CINCINMTI, 

INDIANAPOLIS 


THE FAVORITE LINE 

CINCINNATI to ST. LOUIS, 

Keokuk, Springfield, 

and JPeoria, 


AND CHICAGO. 

THE ONLY DIRECT LINE 

BETWEEN 

Cincinnati, Dayton, Findiay, 

Lima, Toledo, Detroit, 

THE LAKE REGIONS and CANADA 


PULLMAN SLEEPERS ON NIGHT TRAINS. 

Parlor and Chair Cars on Day Trains between Cincinnati ana 
Points Enumerated, the Year Round. 


M. D. WOODFORD, ViCB-Pres. E. 0. McCORlCK, fien. Pass. AiL 



TITLED AMERICA/NS 

A LIST OF 



AVHO HAVE 


Married Foreigners of 



ILLUSTRATED WITH ARMORIAL BEARINOS. 


SSJNllTTT’JS 

HAND-BOOK LIBRARY— NO. 3. 


I^rioo SO Ooxits. 


Some Opinions of the Press: 

The title pa.t?e of this volume is not sufficiently long-, for besides all it promises it 
neg-lects to aunoiim^e that there is also a list of available iiobhuiien who have have not 
yet entered the state of matrimony, and to whom, presumably, American beauty backed 
by American g-old may successfully appeal.— A. 1". Herald, March 16. 

The book is remarkably complete and is valuable as a reference, in addition to be- 
ing- decidedly interesting.— A'. V. World, March 18. 

The book gives all the attainable facts and figures concerning ricffi American girls 
who have married foreigners of more or less distinction.— A'. Y. Sun, March \A. 

In fact “ Titled Americans” is a book tliat should be in the hands of each unmarried 
fenuile in this country, and from it she should learn the glorious destiny that she may 
achieve.— Weekly. 

It furnisln^s a gi’eat deal o-f information, which will be valuable for reference, con- 
cernin.g American ladies who have married titled foreigners.— jy os < 07 i Saturday Ecenino 
Gazette. 

Of coui-se American “gentlemen” cannot “come in” when such a book is produced. 
They will have to wait until some century when women rule Europe and carry all the 
purchasable titles in their ow-n i'iy:\\t.--Brooklyn Daily Eayle. 

Embraced in this carefully compiled book, w'hich is vastly entertainin.g in its way, 
are personal sketches of all the bachelor peers of Britain. We take it that the moral of 
the wnrk for our American maidens is, “ Oo thou and do likewuse,” and that its mission 
is to show^ them where and how .—Boston Times. 

Here is a volume for which young American w-omen wull be truly grateful. It con- 
tains the names of two hundred and five American girls wdio have married foreignei-s. 
This is of course very exciting reading, and will probably keep many girls aw ake at 
night, plannin.g to go and do likew-ise .— Balle in, March 15. 

“'J’itled Americans” is a valuable and uniciue work of considerable labor and ex- 
I)ense. and soimdhing every pei'son in society will be interested in.— A'. Y. Eieniny 
Teleyram, March 13. 

Street iS: Smith have issued a rather unique book, but one that, in these davs w h(ui 
titled foreiLuiers are gobbling up and carrying- off so many American belles and rich 
girls, will not be without use for reference.— Tritmne. 

The only book of the kind ever published. This is an interesting- and unique work 
of considerable labor and t!xpense, and something- many scx'iety people w ill be interested 
in, as it .gives a complete re('ord to date of all Ameri( an ladies w ho have married titled 
foreigners, illustrated with their armorial bearings. Young larlies traveling abroad 
stiould not fail to si-cure a coi)y as it will be of great assistance in reigulutiiig their heart 
strings .— ira Teleyravi. 

If anything were needed to crystallize the craze of some American women for titled 
husbands it has b»-en provided in this veritablM hand-book for marriageable maidens 
and ambitious w idow's. It w'ill doubtless be hidden aw'ay in some secret corner of the 
boudoir, or carri<*d off in the traveling trunk across the ocean, to be consulted, 
chenshed and studied ; while the names of more than twn hundred American wcmeii 
w'ho have successfully hunted down the titled ganie will arouse the envy and liasten the 
Iialpitation of many a husband-hunting aspirant to wedded privilege.s.- A. Y. Saturday 
Jlecieiv, March 8. 



TTWtmi^ 


f 


I Have you 

USED 


PEARS 


Soap? 


FOR THE 




F ACE AND Hands. 

'Paris Exposition, 
i88g. 



P G 0. FS obtain ed tlie only| % 
gold medal awarded solely] 
for toilet in 

-petition with all the werldi i m 


£ Highest possible dlstinctioin£)P 

^ Sale TJiiiiV'er:^L J, 










■*- • •* 

• •:. i-r'. - F '. 



. ./ 


:VJ 




•>. .1 






/'k 


‘ y 


>^y'r '. ' ■•- 






MPr ■;’: i'.v ■. 


'If 


, 1 


< ig <' 


■ *' • K 


I i 


f i 


v»‘ 


IN 


V. .j 

? :'/i 


■ ^/v’. > 




■•\t' 


ji 


^‘.v 


.' ■. ■■yi' 


I ». 


{. ■■f>. 


'.it 


Sit 


V > 




< t 






1^ 




i.'- f 


I ■ 



f 


t . 






I • ! 




0 « < 


< ' <) • ^ , t.. 'OBHikKBi 




-t- 


r. ' , 


• ( 


''i 


A.» 






% 


^ •;>T' .<!i •> 


.V 


•^ ' ■ s !■. iT • ’ ' 




2 . 


'» f , 




1^.4 




'^- V. 




• # 




f 


• *. 


•,' yf . 


\ 


•♦ "f 


J./' 


'Si 






'1 ■* . :* 


.^- K 




1 




i. s- 




.,<• 




'»■ V 
r* ; » . » * 


/•* 


'-71 


>» ^ . \ J > 0 


L* . » 


44 


/ 


1 '■ 


.t y 




i 


. // 

'■■ J: 


nii 


:.' -t:-- 


N .‘ I 


4 ■ 1 ' 


' 'l', ■ ' •’ V ; 


f ^ k * 




M \ •'^’ 7 1 ' Da 

■r y ', 'a j fa 

..)«: ..*|>S;,3 

■I k * Ik *' I 


't: 


-^l^ 


,;*■ •. 




1 V 


•■. « 


' ) n • - ’ 






V 


' ’ t 


!•. ■ ’ V 




^V.' 


‘i ^ ' • tk' ' 

. : 'fii'- ‘ •■ ■< . ' • ■ -'■ ' 

V ** .* '.r • 

» , ■ ' •' f ,.., i ' 

! 4 « % 




>;• 


1 


(Ji 


. ■ . ' u '> 

• r - • • ^ . * f #» ' I 

fli 4 -^’ * .• 1 * * k '^.' 4 

^V- ^ 'V 

»' J ; C *.'> ■ V f . . ■ '*. ,^ ' '■ V 

IHUM * 




I 


'♦1 


'» < 


Aji - 


• 1 . ‘ 


f ’*. 


L*4fn^HyrnHMiMW 

*;•.'■ ' 

’ ?V. '?* 

U'.' :■•' - •■t’ 


■ ^ 


■’ ' .^.V;' f 


. .' 1 - 


;„i V -- ,, ' V \ v -1 


\ ft* 






m 


*1 


i-- 


ife 


‘A 



'sr 


• >^ 






A 4 ' 


k ^ * V ' ■ ■• ■ 

(^,1 ■/.'. ■ ■: 


■ • k i ' » r * ' * ' ■-' ‘•^•/' *' /v * 

■ ■: -, ■: ' r , ' i,KElife 


/ 4^/1 




- ^k.. - .. 










